


Everything That Happens (Is From Now On)

by Lynds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: About Time AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fred Weasley Lives, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has a Saving People Thing, Heavy Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Nymphadora Tonks Lives, Poor Harry, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Some of the deaths are major, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Unreliable Narrator, but I SWEAR they're temporary!, eventually, hence choosing not to use archive warnings, how I managed to turn such a lovely fluffy movie into this is anyone's guess, like... so major, please ask for more details if you need them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2019-12-25 19:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18267806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds
Summary: When Harry Potter goes to bed on his eighteenth birthday, he learns he's inherited yet more special powers. He can travel into the past. And being Harry Potter, what else would he do with this new information but try to save the world even more?





	1. This Is Pouring Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started off as a conversation with Shannon on Discord about the best Rom Com movie ever, About Time. I started thinking what if Harry inherited time travelling powers on his 18th birthday, just like the main character of that movie? And then I fell down a rabbit hole of angst and have yet to emerge... This fic is very sad for a good few chapters, but I promise Harry will get there in the end, and the last few chapters are going to be all about recovery and being happy, because these guys deserve it so much! If you're concerned about any of the tags please contact me, I'm more than happy to give more detail on major plot points if you need it, and I will completely understand if you can't read more - your health matters more than anything. Best way to get hold of me is probably [on Tumblr](https://gold-from-straw.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> The chapter titles, and the fic title, are lyrics from Re:Stacks by Bon Iver - I listened to their stuff almost constantly while writing this!
> 
> The first draft of this is all done, and most of it is all written up on computer as well, so I figured for my birthday I can make everyone sad (muahaha). I'm planning to upload a new chapter every week! I hope you like it! Thank you SO MUCH to Shannon for the beta and the amazing cheerleading!

Harry watched the old clock count down the seconds to midnight, his eyes dry and sore from staring dully into space. He took a gulp of firewhiskey and sighed the smoke out of his nostrils so they tingled. It might have been the first thing he’d _felt_ all day.

Five seconds to go. Ron shifted next to him, resting his hand on the back of Harry’s neck. Four, three, two, one.

“Happy birthday, mate,” he said softly into the darkness. Hermione leaned over to hug him tight. Kreacher popped into the room with a wonky chocolate cake; It had green icing.

“Thank you, guys,” he said, his voice rough with the firewhiskey, or disuse. He blew out the candles, and didn’t make a wish.

“Eighteen at last, eh?” Ron said, leaning forward to cut the cake when Harry made no move to do so. “You’re legal in Muggle bars too, now.”

Harry mustered up a tired grin for him, then softened. “Thank you for not insisting we go out,” he said, looking down at his glass.

Hermione brushed his hair back off his face. It was growing long, and he hadn’t washed it in days. “It’s your birthday, Harry, we’ll go where you go.”

He took a deep breath. “Don’t really fancy going anywhere. Sorry.”

“That’s OK too,” she said, her earnest brown eyes too much to face. She took the plate Ron handed her and sat back against the cushions. “This is lovely, Kreacher, is it red velvet cake?”

“Kreacher is finding new recipes in Master Ron’s book,” he said, nodding so his great ears flopped over his face. “Master Ron has been kind enough to offer the use of them.”

Ron pinked slightly. “Mum gave me her recipe books,” he mumbled. “I think she was planning to save them for Ginny, but she said I appreciated food the most so… some of it’s quite technical, you know.” His voice took on a slightly defensive tone, as if he thought they were going to mock him.

Harry nudged him. “It’s a good thing one of you knows what you’re doing in a kitchen,” he teased. “Otherwise I’d be insisting you move in here with me and Kreacher.”

Ron and Hermione shot each other a worried glance, and Harry winced. “I didn’t-- look, we’ve been over this. You guys are going to need your own space. It’s been the three of us in each other’s pockets for so long.”

Hermione screwed up her face and spoke more to Ron than to Harry. “And with the Ministry incentive giving young couples help to buy after the war, we can’t really afford to wait. Percy said the scheme’s only going to run for three years, and we’ll be in Hogwarts for one of those.”

“I know, Hermione,” Ron sighed, looking down at his plate. “It’s just… doesn’t it feel like we grew up too fast? Like, we’re eighteen and we’re getting our own house and--”

“Well, I’ve had my own house since I was fifteen, you two are well behind,” Harry said, nudging Ron.

They laughed. It was forced, and not very funny at all. Harry licked the last bit of icing off his thumb. “I think I’m going to go to bed,” he said.

“Oh, OK Harry,” said Hermione, making a valiant effort to sound disappointed. But she’d been nagging him to go to bed earlier for weeks, and half past midnight was a triumph for her.

He pushed himself off the sofa, his joints aching like a man’s three times his age. “‘Night, guys. And thank you for…” he gestured at the cake, the decorations that disappeared sadly into the gloom of Grimmauld Place, and the wrapping paper on the table.

“Sleep well, Harry.”

“Happy birthday, mate.”

***

Up in Sirius’ old room, Harry sighed and flopped backwards onto the dark four poster, staring up at the canopy that moved lazily in the breeze. He was eighteen. He felt empty, hollowed out, like now the constant struggle against external forces was gone, all his fight had gone with it. Now he had no battles to win, what was the point in pushing forwards?

What was the point of _him?_ What did people do when they didn’t have to fight to survive? How did normal people muster up the energy to live?

He rolled onto his side and watched his parents twirl on the dance floor in their wedding photo. Hagrid had once told him they were married straight out of school, eighteen, just like him. What would they think of him? A broken old man in a nearly-child’s body. What would they think of his lifelessness, these young lovers with so much vitality? Even in the depths of war they’d had so much hope.

He felt the tears, that threatened so often these days, rise up behind his throat, getting stuck behind his eyes as always. Aching and never falling. He stared at his twirling parents, blinking against the tiredness. He wished he could remember them, more than their screams or their ghosts. He wished he could hear his father’s laugh, feel his mum’s hands.

There was a trail in his mind’s eye, a silvery strand like you’d put in a pensieve. He imagined reaching out, touching it -- and the world behind his eyes went white.


	2. This Is My Excavation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets some answers from an unexpected source

There was a growing crack, and Harry found himself falling, yelling, his head covered in something with string - a net, a rope? And then, light, yelling, “Harry? Oh my God, where is he? _Harry!”_

He felt the distinctive jab of a wand under his chin. “Who are you? How did you get in? _What have you done with him?”_

“Lily, what is it, who--” A man stumbled into the room, messy black hair, glasses, and the world turned itself upside down.

Harry gaped at the man, then looked past the wand under his chin to see a red-haired woman, ferocious green eyes blazing as she yelled words Harry could no longer hear because his ears were full of white noise, and “Mum… Dad?”

His voice was tiny, terrified. The impossible people heard him, though, their terror and fury turning to confusion. “Harry?” said the man, his eyebrows disappearing into his fringe. Harry’s eyes snapped to him and the man (it couldn’t possibly be…) flung his arm out to the woman. “Lily, stop! It’s him! It’s… I can explain!”

Lily Potter lowered her wand and looked between the two men, a frown deep on her forehead. “Harry?” she said incredulously.

Harry cried. The tears that had been threatening for so long, for maybe an entire lifetime found their release. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t help it, and he just wanted… he wanted…

“There, there, lad, it’s alright, let it all out.” James Potter knelt beside Harry and patted his back, and Harry, gulping an ugly breath, clutched at him, almost knocking him off his feet.

And there, surrounded by the broken remains of his own cot, dressed only in blankets and the shredded remains of a babygrow with a mobile still tangled around his shoulders, Harry wept on his father’s shoulder while his mother stroked his hair.

***

Lily set a mug of steaming hot chocolate in front of Harry and took a seat opposite him. Harry stared at her. He still couldn’t call her Mum in his mind. A snide little voice there told him he didn’t get to, he didn’t know her well enough. Not the real Lily Potter.

“You said you could explain,” she said, turning a dangerous-looking gaze on James, who sat beside Harry. Harry was wearing his clothes. He tugged at the long sleeves of his father’s jumper and tried to hold on to just one thought at a time, but everything was just too surreal.

James chuckled sheepishly and tugged at his hair. Seeing him do that in the real world, not just in Snape’s memories, made Harry’s world tilt just that little bit more. “It’s called Potter’s Gift,” said James, turning to beam at Harry. “When we hit our eighteenth birthday, Potters are able to travel in time. So, uh… happy birthday, son?” He spread his hands in a _ta-daa_ motion.

“We… travel in time?” Harry said. “We… what?”

“Wait,” said Lily, glaring at James. “You _what?_ And you didn’t _tell_ me?”

“Well, we’re not _meant_ to tell anyone--”

“I am your _wife!”_ she snapped.

“Yes, I see, you make a good argument… give me a min, will you?”

He walked out. Lily looked at Harry. Harry stared back. Lily cleared her throat. “Uh… drink your hot chocolate, it’ll get cold,” she said, but it sounded like a question. Like she wasn’t sure if that’s what a twenty-one year old mother says to her eighteen year old son. Harry drank.

James bounded back in and plopped next to Harry again. “Sorry about that, where was I? Oh yes, the time travel - obviously I told your mother a bit about it soon after you were born--”

“Wait, what?” Harry frowned from Lily, who was nodding and looking a lot less angry and confused, to James, who winked at him and shook his head ever so slightly. “Uh… so I can…” Harry floundered.

“Ah, right, the rules! So all Potters get their powers on their eighteenth birthday, but we never get told about them in advance in case we, you know, do stupid things as kids and just figure we’ll fix it later.” He chuckled and nudged Harry. “We can only travel backwards in time, we can only go to somewhere we’ve already been, and we take the place of our old selves temporarily - hence you breaking your cot.”

“I’m sorry about--”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, nothing a good Reparo can’t fix. Anyway, we then return to our own time. Or I should say the _equivalent_ of our own time. Any changes we make in the past will affect the timeline and can have knock-on effects before we get back… uh, well, back to the present, I guess. Heh. Or Back to the Future.” He grinned at Lily. “Good film. Those Muggles, eh? They get so close sometimes. Anyway, you’ll remember everything that happened the first time you lived your life. But you’ll also start to remember the things that changed because of your time travelling shenanigans. Awesome, huh?”

Harry stared at him. “So… I can come back here? Any time I want?”

Dad blinked and smiled. “Well, I suppose… hear that, Lils? He wants to come back. We must be something right, huh, if our boy wants to come and spend time with his mum and dad.”

Lily looked at Harry, unsmiling, her chin resting in her hand. She looked like she’d just heard something terribly sad. “I mean,” Harry said, almost breathless with hope. “If you don’t mind? I can… _may_ I come back?”

“Of course you can!” Dad laughed. “Merlin, Lily, he looks just like you, doesn’t he? We always knew he had your eyes, but he’s got your nose and lips too, doesn’t he?”

Harry turned back to Lily, drinking in her features eagerly. She looked seriously back at him. “When did we die, Harry?” she asked.

James laughed sharply, and it sounded so much like Sirius. “Steady on, Lils, bit dark.”

Harry’s eyes filled with tears and he clenched his fingers together so tightly the joints hurt.

“Look at him, James,” Mum said softly. “It’s like he’s seen a ghost.” She took a deep breath. “How long ago was it for you?”

“Oh… now, Lils, that’s a bad idea, knowing when you’re going to die--”

“Not if it’s something we can avoid. Not if it gets us more time with him.”

Harry took a great shuddering breath and the tears broke free and fell again, soaking his glasses and leaking past the frames. “H-Halloween 1981.”

The room fell into utter silence except for Harry’s quiet sobs.

“Day after tomorrow,” James said, shell-shocked.

Lily nodded. “Right. OK. Right. I’ll get the bags, you get the first aid kit, I’ll--”

“Lily, no,” Dad said, looking suddenly sharp and aware. “There’ll be time… I mean, not much but…” He wrapped his arms tentatively around Harry, who made a guttural sound like a wounded animal and threw himself into his dad’s arms. After a moment, Mum sat down on the other side of him, and he felt slim fingers stroking through his tangled hair.


	3. The Fountain In The Front Yard Is Rusted Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not midnight yet! I'm not late! And I'm so so so sorry for not replying to comments yet, the consent fest got de-anoned (that is a word...) and I'm catching up on my inbox and all the INCREDIBLE lovely things people have said to me I CANNOT COPE!!!
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to Homeohope for going through this whole thing and pointing out some weird and confusing bits and cheerleading me!!

“I know it’s horrible, darling,” said his mum. He was lying with his head on her lap, a blanket draped over him. “But is there anything you can tell us about… about Halloween?”

He took a deep breath and focused. He wasn’t as good at strategy as Ron, but he’d got enough battle experience under his belt. “It was Peter Pettigrew, your secret keeper. He betrayed you to Voldemort - you know about the prophecy?” His mum nodded, looking disturbed. Harry swallowed and stared back into the fire his dad had set. “Voldemort came himself, he sent the Lestranges for Neville’s… for the Longbottoms. He, uh… he killed Dad first. In the living room… here, I guess. Then he, umm. He followed you up to my nursery. You… you didn’t step aside when…” Harry swallowed hard again. “And then when he tried to kill me, the curse backfired and… well, kind of hit him? Only it didn’t completely kill him. Anyway, all that doesn’t really matter.” 

Harry sat up, the blanket spilling of his shoulders. “Dad, can’t you go back and change the secret keeper? Insist Sirius does it, or Remus?”

Dad looked helplessly at Lily, then back at Harry. “I can’t… we decided on that plan between the five of us way before you were born, if anyone needed a secret keeper we’d switch it up like that. If I go back any time before you came along then it could make you… change into a different person.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Harry, his eyes wild. “It’s fine, just--”

“You don’t understand, Harry, you could stop existing!”

“I don’t care!” he shouted. “If you two are OK, that’s all that matters!”

“No,” said Mum, and Dad nodded along with her. “Absolutely not. We are not risking anything about you.”

“But don’t you see? If I stop existing, the prophecy doesn’t apply to you - you’ll be safe!”

“Harry, no! There is no way-- look, you wouldn’t sacrifice anyone for yourself, would you? Least of all your _own child!_ ” Lily grabbed his hands. “We are always going to put you first.”

“But… but it’s my fault,” Harry said, his eyes filling up with tears again even though he couldn’t possibly have any left to shed.

Mum pulled him close and pressed his head against her shoulder. “None of this is your fault, Harry, _none_ of it,” she said fiercely. “It’s _his_ fault. Voldemort’s. We love you so, so much, we’d do anything for you.”

Harry leaned against her, emotionally exhausted. “Can I stay?” he asked. Part of him hated how vulnerable and childish he sounded, the rest of him sank into it, desperate for the comfort. 

Dad sat on his other side, rubbing his back. “You’ll have to go back to your own time, son. Either when you choose to, or when you fall asleep. And no, you can’t stay awake until Saturday.” He chuckled. “Wow, I sound like a real dad, don’t I?”

“You _are_ a real dad, idiot,” snorted Lily.

“Hey, don’t call me an idiot in front of our son!” He stroked Harry’s hair as Harry sat up straight again. “It’s funny,” Dad continued, brushing the fringe off Harry’s face. “You’re only three years younger than us like this, but I still feel like… yeah, this is _my_ son. And I’d kill for him.”

Harry felt a warm glow in his chest spread through every inch of him, and he smiled up at his dad, speechless. Dad squeezed his shoulder and smiled fondly.

“Maybe you can come back, though,” said Lily suddenly. “You have to go to your own time soon, but you could come back tomorrow or something. Help us plan where to go.”

“Yeah, that’d be brilliant,” Dad said. “I mean, as long as you don’t have any kids,” he chuckled, then his eyes widened in horror. “You _don’t_ have any kids, do you? Oh, Merlin, I’m not a grandpa, am I? I don’t think I can cope with that.”

“No,” Harry laughed.

“That’s good,” said Dad, sighing. “Really, it’s very good. If you go back to any point before your kid’s born it can cause real problems.”

“Like what?” asked Harry.

“Well, if you change the timeline before your own child is born, it could make them stop existing, like I said. Or someone else would be born instead, and that would be… you know, I know people think one baby’s pretty much the same as another, but I can’t imagine loving any other baby the same way I do you. And it would feel like… like I’d killed you.” Dad stared at the fire, shaken by the thought. “I mean, I _would_ love any baby that’d taken your place, I would, but I just…” he swallowed and shook his head. “Just don’t do it.”

Harry nodded. “OK, no going back before my hypothetical future children are born.”

“Or nieces and nephews,” Dad said quickly. “God, nearly forgot - only child,” he chuckled.

“Wouldn’t it affect your friends kids as well, then?” Mum asked, resting her chin on her hand. “Like how far afield do you have to think?”

James screwed up his face. “I dunno. Any child you affect, I guess. If you’re close to the parents, then changing the timeline could affect their conception somehow, I guess. More so than if you’re _not_ close to a sibling.” He shrugged. “But you’re a bit young for that, really. Nothing you need to worry about yet, eh?”

But Harry was staring at his hands in dawning horror. “What about my godson?”

Dad raised his eyebrows. “You’re a godfather? But you’re so - wow, which of your friends--”

Harry swallowed hard. “Remus,” he said. “He, um. He had a little boy, Teddy, at the - the height of the war.”

“Remus?” gaped Dad, just as Mum said “War?”

“Oh, God,” whispered Harry. “I’ve gone back so, so far before he was born, I… what if I’ve killed him?”

Dad glanced at Mum, then pulled Harry into a gentle hug. “It’s OK… maybe it won’t have affected him at all, you never know. Just… there’s no point in worrying about it now. I’m sure it’ll all come right in the end.”

Harry pressed closer and squeezed his eyes shut tight. He couldn’t risk it again, even if everything was fine. He couldn’t bear it if he hurt Teddy. But to never see his parents again, when he’d only just been given this ability, felt like an unnecessary cruelty.

“So, you were friends with Remus, huh? God, I bet he and Sirius just doted on you,” smiled Dad, brushing through Harry’s hair. 

Harry sat up, tangling his fingers together. “They, umm… it’s a bit complicated.”

Mum took his hand and held it on her lap, stroking the back of it with her thumbs. “Tell us everything, love.”

Harry didn’t want to. He didn’t want their last days on Earth to be spent feeling horrified for how their only son had lived.

“It’s been hard, hasn’t it?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. “God, Harry, I’m so sorry.” She cupped his cheek with her spare hand and he leant into it.

“Tell us the good things,” Dad said, clearing his throat with a wobbly smile. “Tell us about… your friends, and your favourite food, what you got up to in school.”

So Harry told them about Molly Weasley’s giant breakfasts, Hermione’s undetectable extension charms, Ron’s chess games. He told them about the Weasley twins’ fireworks, Quidditch games, Luna and the crumple-horned snorkacks, Hagrid’s rock cakes and the DA. 

The fire burned low in the grate as Harry talked and his parents asked questions and petted him. He’d never felt so loved in his life, and as he followed his Dad in another jaw-cracking yawn, he never wanted to fall asleep. He just wanted to be with his parents on the sofa forever, but even as he thought it, his eyes drifted shut again.

“It’s OK, Harry,” said his mum, guiding his head down onto her lap. Dad lifted Harry’s feet onto the sofa.

“Go to sleep now, son,” said Dad. “We love you very much.”

“I don’t want to,” he said in a mumble. “I’ll never see you again.”

Mum stroked over the scar on his forehead. “I know, sweetie. We’re sorry. I wish we could be there to watch you turn into this incredible young man, but just… just know that Dad and I are so, so proud of you, OK? We love you so much.”

Harry fell asleep with the brush of lips on his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I am really sorry... I kinda want to write an AU to this fic where Harry CAN keep going back...


	4. Everything That Happens Is From Now On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry sees the consequences of his trip to the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is a day late! I got confused over what day was what and lost loads of time somehow lol! School holidays ftw. 
> 
> I hope you like the direction this story is going! Please keep in mind that Harry is a terrible, unreliable narrator and blames himself for literally everything... this poor boy has a way to go in accepting that he doesn't ONLY make terrible decisions.
> 
> I mean, not that all his decisions are great, but he certainly isn't personally responsible for killing everyone in the war, for example. But he still blames himself

Harry woke up, the sun warm on his face, and smiled at the thought of a warm fire and loving hands. 

But as the memories came back slowly, the cold, heavy grief he’d become so accustomed to settled back in his bones. He knew he should be grateful, and he was, truly he was. But to have this power that could take him back to his parents, and then never be able to use it again because -- shit! Teddy!

His eyes flew open and he scrambled out of bed. He had to see for himself, make sure Teddy was OK. And then maybe… but that was selfish. He couldn’t risk it again. He paused in front of the mirror. Wow. He really needed to shower first.

The house was still silent when he ran down the stairs fifteen minutes later. Kreacher appeared in the hall while he was shrugging Sirius’ leather jacket on. “Will you be having breakfast today, Master?”

“Not right now, Kreacher,” he said, and ran out of the door, ignoring the disappointed sigh.

He could have flooed over to Andromeda’s place in Pembrokeshire, but to be honest, Harry needed the walk to and from Apparition points. Even though he forced himself to stay away from thoughts of Teddy, he was starting to remember other things that definitely hadn’t happened, images playing out in his mind like he was watching them on someone else’s pensieve. Dumbledore telling him that his parents had lost faith in the Fidelius charm and left the house, going on the run for nearly a month. Sirius and Remus had joined them, but Voldemort had caught up with them on the night of a full moon, when Sirius had been away with Remus.

At least, once Sirius went to face Peter Pettigrew, Remus had been there, exhausted and ill from the moon, to pull him away before the Aurors caught him. Harry had memories of a pair of gaunt, wild men who’d made their way back to the UK after seeing the picture of Scabbers in the Prophet, two men half starved and bent on revenge, rather than just the one.

Harry had to stop and lean against a building on the corner by the Apparition point. He had earned his parents an extra month, that’s all. Dumbledore had still had him placed with his aunt and uncle, he’d still grown up thinking he was a freak. And Sirius hadn’t been in Azkaban, but he’d spent his life on the run. He’d ruined Remus’ life as well - all so Harry could spend a measly few hours with his parents.

It was only 9am when he arrived at Andromeda’s little cottage - Harry had to check his Tempus charm twice in surprise. He was considering going in to town to kill an hour or two, but as he was turning to go, the door opened. “Harry!” said Andy. “What are you doing out here at this hour? Come on in.”

“I just… thought I’d visit but I didn’t really take much notice of the time I’m afraid… sorry…”

“Nonsense, dear, come on in. Eddie will be delighted to see you.”

Harry’s heart sank through his feet and out, leaving his body cold and empty. He’d been staying away from thoughts of Teddy, wanting to keep the hope alive, and now…

Andromeda was picking a little boy out of his cot, kissing his chubby cheeks and passing him over to Harry. Like Teddy had been, he was four months old, not doing much yet beyond smiling and discovering his feet existed, but Harry understood what his dad had been saying. Because this wasn’t the same baby.

He bobbed Eddie gently in his arms as he made creaky little baby sounds and sucked on his fist. Andy patted his shoulder and wandered off to put the kettle on, and Harry stood at the living room window, staring out at the sea, sparkling blue in the morning sun. 

“I’m going to look after you,” he said. “I’m going to love you so much, and I’m… I’m sorry I put you in danger, I’m…” He took a deep breath and stared at the bright world until his eyes ached. “I’m sorry, Teddy.”

He kissed Eddie’s head, and carried him through to the kitchen.

***

It was nearing midday by the time Harry pushed open the door to Grimmauld place.

“Harry!” Hermione nearly bowled him over with a hug. Then she slapped him on the arm. “Where _were_ you? We were so worried and we had no idea who to Floo call because you didn’t tell Kreacher where you were going!”

Harry took in her red-rimmed eyes and Ron’s dark shadows and hugged Hermione. “I’m sorry, guys. I went to see T- uh, Eddie.”

“At that time of the morning? Is everything OK?” asked Hermione, pulling back.

Harry hesitated. Part of him wanted to tell them everything, but their exhaustion kept his mouth shut. They’d spent half their lives following him and his drama and his ‘special status’ as the Chosen One… how could he ask them to do it all over again for something new? Especially Ron, who was still trying to hold his family together in the wake of Fred’s death.

Harry blinked into space, an idea slowly forming. “Everything’s fine, Hermione, I just… needed to see Eddie,” he said absently.

Hermione nodded sympathetically. She still had days where she had to rush home to check on her recently returned parents, memories firmly back in place.

“I’m just going to - uh, I need to write a letter, I’ll see you guys in a bit, OK?” Harry said, his brain fizzing with possibilities.

“OK, Harry, but don’t forget that we’re going to Diagon for school supplies,” she called after him as he bounded up the stairs.

“Yeah… yeah, eighth year, right, excellent. Excellent.”

He ignored Ron and Hermione sharing worried glances and hurled himself into Sirius’ room. There was parchment in one of the drawers, he was sure of it. “Accio parchment, Accio quill,” he said, and was bombarded with scrap pieces of paper.

At last he settled himself at the desk and scratched a long line vertically down one side, April 8th at the top to July 31st at the bottom. He may not be able to go back before Eddie was born, but a lot had happened since then. Maybe, if he was careful, he could bring back Fred, Remus, Tonks… he wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could save everyone, but could he have this? Could he save some, the ones that meant the most to him? Maybe he could be a little selfish.

Harry bent his head and started to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here we come to the main body of the story! I'm really sorry that Harry won't be able to go back to spend more time with his parents, and part of me is tempted to write another path to this story where his time-travel has no consequences for Teddy, but maybe I should stop trying to write ALL the things and concentrate on the things I actually need to write...
> 
> ...
> 
> nah!


	5. I've Been Twisting To The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts welcomes the students back, and Harry makes his first deliberate trip to the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG you guys thank you SO MUCH for all your lovely comments... I'm incredibly behind on replying to all of them but I appreciate them so much and I love everyone!!!

“I can’t believe we’ve got an eighth year dorm, rather than being back in Gryffindor,” Ron grumbled, and dropped heavily onto his bed. “At least they’ve colour-coded our beds.”

“Feels weird to be so much lower down as well,” said Harry, looking out into the grounds from the second floor which had been repurposed into two large dorms and a central common room. 

“Yes, well, they were lucky to be able to repair Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers to the extent they did,” said Hermione, looking around. “As it is the year sevens are sharing with the year sixes.” She shook her hair out and sat next to Ron. “Only four Gryffindor beds - who didn’t return?”

“Dean Thomas,” Ron grunted from his position spreadeagled on his bed. “He’s got a place in a muggle art college, apparently. Seamus told me on the way up. At least Zacharias Smith moved overseas, we won’t have to share with him.”

The room was a cheery mixture of red, blue and yellow hangings, but Harry’s eyes were drawn to the two beds in the corner, the green almost apologetic and faded. “Who came back from Slytherin?”

“Nott and Malfoy,” said Hermione, darting him a quick look out of the corner of her eye.

“I can’t believe they’re making us bunk with that lot, honestly,” Ron said, shaking his head.

“Ron, leave it. The war’s over. I think it’s a good thing we’re all in the same room. I’ve always thought the segregation by house is way too partisan, and encourages bad feeling among students.”

“Hear hear,” said Justin Finch-Fletchley from a couple of places over. “And because we’re all of age, we can use the cupboards in the common room for firewhiskey.

The boys cheered and the chatter raised, regardless of Hermione’s disapproving looks.

***

Being back at Hogwarts was both a blessing and a curse. Seeing the school, his only real home, so battered and broken made Harry want to hide under the invisibility cloak and never open his eyes again. The great hall was quieter now, every house depleted in some way, and the colours looked muted, as if the castle itself was in mourning. The returning eighth years sat together at one table just in front of the teachers’ dais, and for the first few weeks, every dinner felt like a funeral.

On the other hand, every corner reminded him of something new to add to his list, some event he had to follow through to determine if it could be changed, or should be changed. 

And seeing the new ghosts made Harry all the more determined to do it. Because he realised he’d been afraid, before, afraid that if he sent himself back to that horrible day, the smell of curse fire and smoke, the screams and yells and horror, that he’d freeze and possibly even make everything worse.

The first time he saw Colin Creevey he almost fell to his knees in the corridor. Dennis was sitting on a bench by the window, swinging his legs, and Colin sat beside him, translucent and yet more vibrant than anyone else in Hogwarts.

“Oh, Harry,” said Colin, looking up. “Hi! I’m glad we saw you, how are you doing?” he chirped, floating up.

“I… I’m fine, Colin,” he said shakily. “Ummm…” He glanced at Dennis, his little face so much younger than Harry had ever been, he was sure. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, no, no, Harry, you don’t have to be sad,” said Colin, giving him a chilly pat on the arm. “I was just telling Dennis here, nothing hurts, and we can still chat - and I’m not lonely either. Nearly Headless Nick says I can share the job of Gryffindor ghost with him, isn’t that great? All the house ghosts are taking on an apprentice, the Fat Friar’s got three!”

Dennis nodded up at his brother and Harry, and swallowed hard, trying a watery smile.

***

That night, Harry took deep, calming breaths as he lay in bed. They didn’t work. But he was determined to do this, determined to go back and save just one person. Colin would be easy, Harry could just make sure he left with the other evacuees, and then return to his own time, leaving his old self to run straight to the Grey Lady.

He tried to ground himself by listening to the quiet snores of his dorm-mates. The evacuation. Where had he been? Kingsley had been ordering people into position and then--

“Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, and Harry opened his eyes to focused, nerve-jangling chaos, jostled by bodies moving in every direction, the smell of fear, and _God_ , even in his healthy future body his head _hurt_ with it all.

“Aren’t you supposed to be looking for something?” McGonagall snapped.

“What? Oh,” said Harry. “Oh yeah!”

The Horcrux - she was talking about Ravenclaw’s diadem, and he couldn’t miss that, no matter what, otherwise saving one or two people would mean nothing. Even so, he caught a glimpse of Remus hurrying out into the grounds, and the twins into the school, and the sight of them all alive rocked him to his core. 

He shook his head and rushed on. He had to focus! He’d been delayed last time, looking for the Grey Lady, but he knew where she’d be now. Instead, he hovered in the entrance hall, waiting, watching - there!

“Colin Creevey,” he snapped, whipping out a hand and grabbing the sixth year boy as he sneaked past. “And… you.” He pointed awkwardly at the Hufflepuff boys with him. “There’s a reason we’re evacuating you, now go.”

Colin rolled his eyes. “Harry, we can _help!_ We’re nearly seventeen, the age is just an arbitrary cut off, please!”

“No, Colin,” he said, gripping his shoulders hard and shaking lightly. Harry was small himself, but Colin was still tiny, his voice not even broken, and Harry had to swallow hard as he remember the ghost with long wavy hair. “Please go, all of you, please. You’ve… you’ve got to keep the little ones safe.” 

He saw the Hufflepuffs glance at each other and seized on it. “All the overage students are here, who’s going to look after the little ones?”

“The fifth years?” ventured one of the Hufflepuffs tentatively.

Harry shook his head. “Nobody knows what the hell they’re doing in fifth year. It has to be you. And if… if we fail, someone needs to fight to get them home, yeah?” He ducked his head to try and catch Colin’s gaze. “Please… please go look after your brother? Don’t let me find you d-dead on a battlefield.”

Colin met Harry’s eyes. Maybe he saw something there, some truth, but he nodded once, solemn, and returned to the crowd. Harry saw him direct the other boys around the side and start to help with herding the evacuees out.

Harry took a deep breath, then felt a spike of fear rush through him. He couldn’t let the night get away from him! Where had he been… he’d been with those students, and then he’d come _back_ and - and he was here! He’d come back here, and found Nearly Headless Nick!

He looked around wildly, everything different from the bottom of the stairs where last time he’d been at the top, but there! “Nick!” he yelled, and as the ghost turned, Harry relaxed his hold on his past self, and sprang back into his own time.

Harry’s eyes snapped open and he stared into the darkness, breathing fast. He sat up and checked the time, but it wasn’t even 3am yet. He sighed and slumped back onto his pillows.

Now he was awake (had he even slept at all? He didn’t think much time had passed while he was time travelling) he couldn’t bear to lie still. The soft breathing of his dorm-mates taunted him. Eventually he sat up and pulled the Marauder’s map out from his trunk.

Opening up the parchment and saying the words had an instant settling effect on him. He searched Ginny out just on instinct, and smiled to see his ex’s name floating in the girls dorms, bunked down with Briony Dunstan, and Romilda Vane from the year below. 

Harry followed the names along Gryffindor tower, like a calming roll-call. The writing was crammed together more than usual, the sixth and seventh years in the same room on both the boys and girls side and - his eyes did a double take, catching on the name Colin Creevey and skittering back.

He stared at the map, hardly daring the breathe. Then, in a sudden burst of motion that tangled his legs in his blankets and almost sent him tumbling to the floor, Harry scrambled out of bed and hurled himself out of the dorms. He tore through the silent, moonlit corridors, up the moving staircases and stumbling against the Fat Lady’s portrait. “Pax,” he gasped out. 

“If you say so, dear,” she yawned, and swung open. Harry scrambled through the hole, only pausing a moment in shock to see the common room half its usual size, a wall that had never been there before blocking off the room from the staircase that led up to the highest dorms. That must be the damaged section, he thought, blinking.

He shook his head and rushed onwards, up the stairs to the boys dorms labelled _Sixth and Seventh years,_ and pushed his way in. He glanced down at the map, moving through the room, as silent and slumbering as his own had been, and ripped open the hangings at the foot of Colin Creevey’s bed.

Colin Creevey, living, not transparent, not dead and carried in by Oliver Wood, blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Wh- Harry? Everything OK?”

Harry stepped back, shaking his head, trying to turn away so he wasn’t staring like a creep. “Yeah. Sorry. Bad, uh… bad dreams. Got lost. Um. This was my dorm in sixth year.”

“‘Kay,” said Colin (who was _alive!_ ) lying back down. “‘Night, Harry.”

Harry stumbled out of the door and back down the stairs towards eighth year, a huge smile breaking over his face. He couldn’t believe it! He’d actually succeeded, actually saved someone. He could _do_ this! Maybe he could bring them all back… maybe it just took a bit of patience and thought.

He was so dazed he didn’t see Draco Malfoy until it was too late, until his wand and the map went flying when they crashed into each other.

“What are you doing up here?” Harry blurted. 

Malfoy turned away, his shoulders hunched. “I could ask you the same question, Potter.”

By the time Harry had gathered all his stuff and stood, Malfoy was halfway down the stairs. Harry watched after him with a deepening frown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, most of Harry's trips to save people will NOT go as smoothly as this. Like, please be prepared for some SERIOUS angst with the future trips - he has to go back into a battlefield, it's not going to be easy, and he won't be able to win them all.


	6. It's Hard To Find It When You Knew It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco learn a bit more about each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I'm sorry I missed last week with this story, but it was definitely for a good cause because the WONDERFUL, INEFFABLE, AMAZING PalinDrome was going through the whole story and giving me a lot of things to think about - I'm going to be going back and making some edits over the last few chapters to make them a bit more smooth thanks to her amazing beta skillage! Thank you for your patience ^_^

“Hi, Harry!” said Colin at breakfast the following day, a big cheerful grin on his face. 

Harry couldn’t help but smile back. “Hi, Colin. Sorry I woke you up last night.”

“Oh, that’s fine - I was having a weird dream anyway.” He shuddered, but the darkness that passed over his face was gone in an instant. “Have a good day!”

Harry waved him off and shook his head in amusement, digging into his porridge. Hermione gave him a sly little smile that made him instantly suspicious. “What?”

“Oh… nothing.”

Harry glanced at Ron, who shrugged. He shrugged back. If Hermione wanted to keep a secret, he wasn’t going to get it out of her.

He let his gaze wander over the tables, taking in the dynamics, brittle and fragile under the no-longer enchanted ceiling. The students were making a valiant effort to get back to normal, although there were places that were empty and people notable by their absence. Students whom Harry had never even spoken to had died on May the second, and many more had decided not to return, moving overseas or finishing their studies with private tutors instead.

The Slytherin’s table was now the smallest by far, the students huddling together in little clusters. Harry glanced over to the end of the eighth year table, where their own two Slytherins were sitting, a good foot or two of space between them and the nearest students.

“I don’t know what they were thinking of, coming back here,” Ron muttered, following Harry’s gaze. “Both their dads are in Azkaban, Malfoy’s mum’s under house arrest. What did they think was going to happen, that everyone was going to welcome them back with open arms?”

“Have you considered, Ronald, that they don’t have anywhere else to go? Theo’s effectively an orphan; his mum died when he was in fourth year, and Malfoy… well, would _you_ want to be back there? Where _Voldemort_ was living?”

Ron looked abashed. “How do you even _know_ all that stuff about Nott’s mum?” he asked.

Harry wasn’t listening. He was watching Draco Malfoy rise from the table and slip out of the Great Hall. His white blond hair was somehow darker and lay flat on his head, his eyes were sunken and underlined with dark shadows. He looked like he had in sixth year.

Harry poked at his porridge and felt his heart rate speed up. He wondered what Malfoy had been doing in the third floor corridor last night. Not that there was any reason why he would be… doing anything, just… well, the last time Harry had noticed him sneaking around, it had ended in a war.

But Harry had a new weapon now - he didn’t have to wonder what Malfoy had been getting up to. He could go and find out. 

His heart pounding, Harry excused himself from the table and slipped into an empty classroom. He took a deep breath and remembered where he’d been last night, lying in bed, unable to fall asleep. He could picture it in his mind’s eye, he could see the dorm--

\-- and suddenly he was there. He sat up in bed, blinking in the darkness, and grinned.

He shoved his glasses on and fumbled for the map. There was Colin Creevey in Gryffindor, already (or still) alive, because in this timeline, Harry _had saved him_. The timeline in which Colin had died was gone forever; Harry could feel it in that developing sense deep in his mind, a strand cut loose and drifting free, existing only in Harry’s memory. He felt the fierce triumph pound in his blood as he scanned down the map. To his surprise, even though it was hours before Harry would have bumped into Malfoy the last time, his name was already bobbing around on the third floor.

Slinging his invisibility cloak around himself, he slipped out of the makeshift dorms and up the stairs. The corridor was as unused as Harry remembered from his first year, and for the first time, he wondered why there were so many rooms in the castle that never got used.

Strangely, Malfoy’s name wasn’t anywhere near the trapdoor Fluffy had been guarding seven years ago, but sat in the corner of one of the far rooms. Harry crept closer, his hand pressing flat against the half-open door.

“Who’s there?” Malfoy snapped, leaping to his feet and swinging his wand in an arc across the room. Harry froze, his eyes screwed up tight, berating himself for his carelessness.

“I know you’re there,” Malfoy said. He sounded like he was imitating his past self, like he’d forgotten how to be intimidating. The tip of his wand was shaking, and as Harry looked closer, he thought his lip might have been trembling too.

Malfoy slumped back in the corner, his hands coming up to clutch at his hair, his whole body folding in on itself. All of a sudden, Harry was reminded of the girls’ bathroom in sixth year, Malfoy’s despair, and the last time he went sneaking up on him. 

Shame flooded through him. He’d wanted to use this gift to make things better, to _change_ things, and here he was, making the same mistakes all over again.

Before he could think, he’d slipped the cloak off. “Malfoy?” he called softly, stepping into the room.

Malfoy leaped to his feet again, his eyes hard. “Potter,” he spat. “What do you want? Come to slice me up again?”

“Hey, you tried to-” Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “No.”

“Well… what do you want, then?”

Harry tugged at his hair. “Uh… well, I couldn’t sleep. So I was wandering around.” He shuffled his feet a bit more. “Um, are you OK?”

Malfoy laughed, high-pitched and absolutely without humour. “I’m peachy, Potter,” he said, spreading his arms.

“What are you doing here?” asked Harry, wandering further into the room. “I don’t think we’ve ever had lessons in here.”

Malfoy snorted. “Why do you think I chose it?”

Harry looked at him, his head to one side. He wasn’t sure Malfoy was going to clarify, but after a moment he spoke, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You weren’t here last year, Potter,” he said. “Every room… they tortured people in every classroom. They made us--” He cut himself off and cleared his throat sharply. “If you’ll excuse me…” and he marched past, his shoulder thumping Harry’s on the way out.

Harry took one more look around the classroom, at the corner Malfoy had been huddled in, and felt shame prickle once more at the back of his mind as he released the thread of the past and opened his eyes to another empty classroom hours away.

***

The first time Harry went back in time to try and save Tonks, to try and argue with her, convince her to go back to her baby, she just smiled and patted him on the cheek before running off. When he went back again, fighting through the spiders and veering around the grounds to search for her and Lupin, he wasted so much time that he nearly forgot to get to the Shrieking Shack.

He lay in the darkness of his room, heart beating fast, the grief and terror and panic of that night no less intense than it had been the first time.

He rolled out of bed and wandered the castle again, his head aching dully with the pain leftover from his scar. The moon shone through the windows on the south wing, and Harry leaned out, watching his breath condense in the chilly autumn air.

Soft footsteps had him glancing up to see Draco Malfoy walking along the corridor, his head bowed. Harry watched him, wondering at the difference in his demeanour these days, the way he crept quietly from room to room and sat in silence next to Theo to complete his work. No sarcastic comments, no mockery nor cruel laughter. It was like he’d been hollowed out.

It felt familiar.

“Hey,” he said softly, and Malfoy startled to a stop, looking up cautiously like he hadn’t seen Harry there, or he’d been hoping Harry wouldn’t see him. Harry grasped for conversation, half-wondering what the hell he was doing. “Um. How’s your mum? Is she OK?”

“Why do you want to know?” Malfoy asked, his tone a mix of defiant and curious. 

Harry shrugged. “I heard she was stuck there. In your house. I thought… you know she saved me, right?”

Malfoy frowned.

“She lied to Voldemort. Said I was dead when she knew I wasn’t. I mean… I guess it’s possible he actually wouldn’t have been able to kill me then, but she didn’t know.”

Malfoy walked slowly, cautiously, until he stood at the window beside Harry. Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye, saw how his thin wrists rested delicately on the windowsill, the bumps of his collarbone sticking out of his shirt. How his face looked less sunken, less bruised in the moonlight.

“She’s strong,” Malfoy said at last. “Much stronger than me. Or Father, for that matter. She’s always done what was needed for the good of the family.”

Harry nodded. For a moment they stood side-by-side and watched the thestrals wheel over the forest.

“Goodnight, Potter,” said Malfoy, his hand trailing along the windowsill as he stepped back, and he left Harry to the peace that had taken up temporary camp in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK from now on, the next few chapters are ROUGH. I'm not kidding, it starts to get happy around chapter 11. I am not a kind person to Harry or Draco. Or... anyone... Please check the tags - I have chosen not to use archive warnings because this is a time travel fic and it WILL end up a fix-it. But there's A LOT of bad stuff between now and then. If you need more detail I'll be more than happy to provide <3


	7. I Keep Throwing It Down, Two Hundred At A Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, on the plus side, there's a 'Harry helps save Draco from retaliation' trope in here, but on the DOWN side the time travel stuff is NOT going well for Harry. Please be warned there is reference to non-canon character death in the end of this chapter.
> 
> Honestly it's all downhill from here, kids, I'm sorry, please ask and I will provide spoilers if needed

“Harry? Harry, are you in--” Hermione flung open the curtains around Harry’s bed and froze. “What are you doing?”

Harry looked up, his quill between his teeth, his wand behind his ear, and scraps of parchment covering his bed. “Uh… trying to work something out?” he said, spitting out his quill.

She snatched up the parchment, her frown deepening as she read. “‘Evacuation of juniors, Fiendfyre, Shrieking Shack… Fred…’ Harry, are these… events of the battle?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She looked miserable. “This isn’t healthy, Harry. This is what you’ve been completely fixated on? You’ve been writing on that parchment for weeks, and now… you missed breakfast again, and you’re going to be late for class. Why are you doing this?”

Harry bit his lip. “What if… what if I could find a way to save them?” he asked. “Tonks, Lupin, Fred -- all of them.” He looked up at her, imploring, but he seemed to have just made it worse, her eyes filling with tears. 

“You can’t save everyone,” she said. “You did _so much_ , Harry, you sacrificed your _life_ to save people. Don’t you think you can rest now?”

“But if I _can_ save someone,” he said, “don’t you think I should?”

She closed her eyes, like the conversation physically hurt, and he felt abashed at once. He wasn’t the only one who’d sacrificed things. She’d sacrificed her own parents for the war, after all - yes, she had them back now, just like Harry had his life back, but she must be exhausted. Harry gathered up all his notes and shoved them in a drawer before standing and hugging her. “Sorry, Hermione,” he said. “I’ll leave it.”

She pulled back and blinked at him in surprise. “You… you will? Uh… OK. OK. Well, come on then, you’ll miss Charms if you don’t hurry.”

“I’ll be right there,” he promised, hunting out his tie and book bag. 

She smiled and turned to leave. “Thank you, Harry,” she said, turning just before the door and nodding, and his heart broke with how many times he’d dragged her along - hunting horcruxes; wild goose chases to the Ministry in fifth year that ended in tragedy; even down into the basements of the school in first year. He smiled back at her through his shame as she ran out.

He was still getting his robes untangled from his bag as he walked quickly to class, when he heard Hermione yelling up ahead.

“Stop! Stop it! What do you think you’re doing, stop it!”

His heart pounding, he raced towards her voice, skidding down the corridor. Hermione had her wand out, pointed at a pair of fifth years.

“He’s a Death Eater!” shouted one, gesturing at a heap of robes on the floor. Harry sped up when he saw it moving slowly. “He doesn’t deserve to be here,” the boy yelled again, aiming a kick.

 _“Impedimenta!”_ yelled Harry, before the foot had a chance to connect. He skidded to a halt beside the robes on the floor and pulled black cloth away from white hair and a bloody face. “Malfoy. Malfoy, can you hear me?”

Malfoy grunted and nodded, pushing himself into a sitting position. Harry tucked one arm around his shoulders to help him.

Hermione turned back to the boys, her voice furious. “The war is _over_ ,” she raged. “Stop trying to bring it back with your petty hypocrisy!”

“He’s Death Eater scum,” spat the first boy, starting towards Malfoy again. His friend held him back. Malfoy didn’t even flinch; he just sat, empty and resigned.

“You’re the scum for taking out your anger on someone who posed no threat to you,” Hermione raged. “Is that what people fought for? What people died for? So you could go around bullying other students?”

“Malfoy helped us,” Harry said, glaring up at the boys. “The three of us were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor… he could have said it was us when he saw us, but he didn’t. He lied to Bellatrix Lestrange and we were able to escape. So leave him alone - and leave the other Slytherins alone, too. Save your curses for someone who’s actually doing harm.”

He carried on glaring until the boys grumbled and backed off, storming down the corridor under their own black clouds.

Hermione bent down in front of Malfoy. “Are you OK?”

“Fine,” he muttered dully, his face still turned away.

“Hmm. Your nose looks broken,” she said. “You should go to the hospital wing.” Harry was always amazed at how much authority Hermione could put into her words when she was so used to Harry and Ron ignoring her sensible instructions.

Malfoy nodded and struggled to his feet, clutching at his ribs as he went. “I’ll take him,” said Harry.

Hermione nodded. “See you in…” She glanced at her watch. “Well, whatever class you do get to,” she sighed, and walked off.

Malfoy turned and started walking as soon as she was out of sight. “That’s not the way to the hospital wing,” Harry smirked, tugging on his robes.

“Why?” said Malfoy, stopping. Harry looked at him; his face was still turned away. “Why stop them? Why… lie like that?”

“I didn’t lie,” said Harry. “I know you recognised me that night. You saved me.”

Malfoy shuddered. “I didn’t… I was a coward. I’ve always been a coward.”

Harry took his arm and tugged at him gently until he walked. After a few steps, he looked up at Harry, his eyes haunted. “It doesn’t make up for what I did. Not even remotely.”

“I nearly killed you,” said Harry. “What can ever make up for that?”

They walked the rest of the way to the hospital wing in silence.

***

He couldn’t go back to face the Fiendfyre. He just couldn’t. But he couldn’t afford to stop it from happening, not when it had destroyed a Horcrux.

The trouble was, there was too little time between the escape from the Room of Hidden Things, and the massive curse that had killed Fred Weasley. But at least he knew where Fred had been. After three terrifying trips onto the Hogwarts grounds before the Shrieking Shack, and one attempt to get close to Remus in the Great Hall, Harry had decided to tackle Fred, at least until he’d got some new ideas.

The first time, he’d opened his mouth and yelled for them to move back. The blast had knocked him back into his own time, and hadn’t changed a thing. He spent the next half hour fiercely scrubbing tears off his face, the memories of Fred’s death now clear and aching all over again.

The next time, he tried telling them to avoid that corridor. It hadn’t worked. Sifting through new, slightly different memories on his return, all he saw was that they’d been forced into place by the battle itself, not by choice, and the horrified look Percy had given him when he realised Harry had predicted his brother’s death was so unbearable that Harry went straight back to undo it.

Finally, he focused on the moment Pius Thicknesse fell to the floor. The moment Percy Weasley told a joke, Harry grabbed Fred’s arm and braced himself, hurtled through the air, clutching his wand and Fred Weasley. 

He woke again, gasping, panicking, shocked at the lack of pain back in his own, safe time. Grasped for the memories… to find that he’d killed Percy Weasley instead.


	8. Whatever Could It Be That Has Brought Me To This Loss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sad.
> 
> I am not even kidding, this chapter is physically painful. If you don't want to leave it on at least 2 cliffhangers, maybe wait until I've uploaded up to chapter 10? I'm not ready to upload early on those, but I also don't want anyone to have a bad day because I'm writing emotional whump-fic. Please, I'm not kidding. If you don't think you'll handle a pretty big character death (which I SWEAR I will fix soon!!) and a very depressed Harry and Draco, then please wait until chapter 10 where things start getting like 100% better...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for all my lovely comments, I know I've been totally useless at replying, and I'm not likely to catch up this weekend because I'm away, but please know that I appreciate them all so much ;_; you guys are lovely!

Harry couldn’t bring himself to use his power for days after that. He knew none of the Weasleys blamed him, but then they didn’t know Harry had gone back in time. He had exchanged one brother for the other, and the memory of the grief on both twins’ faces was almost more than he could bear.

He had trouble looking at Ron without wanting to crawl into a hole with guilt. The worst thing was, he knew he had to go back and try again, _fix_ it once and for all, but he was so scared.

He found himself wandering the corridors most nights, unable to sleep. And most of the time he’d come across Malfoy, and they’d fall into step, or sit together, exchange quiet, haunted words full of self-loathing and grief, and accept each others’ melancholy.

With Harry’s sleep patterns as screwed up as they were, it was only a matter of time before he fell asleep in the warm, focused quiet of the library. 

Harry was _there_ again, in the corridor near the Room of Hidden Things, and the Weasleys stood in a line by the howling void that the blast had opened in the castle walls. Harry walked down the line, stopping at Percy. “Sorry,” he said, his voice high and cold and with no remorse at all. “But I liked you least, anyway.”

And he pushed Percy Weasley, watched his eyes open wide in fear and betrayal as he fell, and fell, and fell.

“Harry! Harry! Wake up, mate, HARRY!”

Harry took a great gasp of air, like he’d surfaced from deep under water. Almost immediately it was punched out of him in a wail, a sob. He clung to Ron’s shirt, his worried face all he could see. “I’m sorry, Ron, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“Harry, shhh, what, mate? It’s OK; what happened?”

“I killed him, I killed him, it’s my fault, it’s… I’m so sorry!”

“Who?”

“Percy,” he almost whispered, tears streaming down his face. He tightened his fingers in Ron’s robes, wanted to beg his forgiveness on his knees, but he didn’t deserve it. “I’m so sorry.”

Ron crushed him to his chest, long arms wrapping around Harry, stroking his hair, holding him together. “Mate, that wasn’t your fault - none of it was your fault. Don’t think like that, OK?”

Harry wept like a wounded creature, curled in on himself and pressed as close to Ron as he could get.

“Weasley, Granger. Can you take Potter to the hospital wing?” said Miss Pince, somewhere over his head and far away. Her voice sounded uncharacteristically kind.

Ron and Hermione coaxed Harry to stand. He didn’t want to move from Ron’s embrace, didn’t want to see the terrified - worried - fascinated faces around him.

A cold hand slipped a glass vial into his palm. “Calming Draught,” said Malfoy stiffly. His haunted grey eyes met Harry's briefly before he turned and stalked off.

***

_Tonight_ , he thought, taking steadying breaths, trying to match those around him. He was going to go back and make it better. He closed his eyes, remembered the diadem crumbling in his hand.

The stench of burnt hair and curse-smoke singed his nose, and Harry opened his eyes to the pieces of the diadem lying on the floor beside him. Malfoy wept for Crabbe, and the sounds of battle crescendoed up the stairs.

Harry leaped to his feet as Percy cursed Thicknesse. He grabbed both Weasleys before Fred even had a chance to speak and hauled them back, back into the corridor as the blast hit.

His ears rang, his elbows ached from being thrown down the corridor. But as he turned to look, both Percy and Fred were moving sluggishly. 

A stab of ferocious triumph burned through him. And then he heard the wail, the howl of grief. “Ron! Ron, no!”

***

Harry moved through the days in a fog, focusing on the one next step he had to take, the world a blur in his peripheral vision. He couldn’t bring himself to eat, could barely read words on the page or hold conversations steady in his mind. All he wanted to do was sleep, but then he’d wake, weeping from nightmares.

The worst thing was the new memories. Not only did he still remember his last birthday and the recipe books Mrs Weasley had given Ron, or the breakdown in the library, or the simple comfort of his two best friends walking beside him, now he had to watch these get overlayed with new memories, where nothing remained but grief and a deep hole in the universe beside him.

He was alone. Hermione hadn’t been able to bear coming back; she’d moved to Australia instead. Harry remembered, in a memory that hadn’t existed before his meddling, her tearful goodbye. “I can’t go back there; there’s nothing for us. Won’t you come with me?”

But Harry had shaken his wool-filled head and waved her off, his eyes dry and burning, his heart empty, just hoping that he could find _something_ , some peace, in the only place he’d ever called home.

He felt drawn to Malfoy now, more than ever, two shadows, ghosts in nearly every way, drifting restless through the castle with empty eyes.

Harry stood at the window once again as September changed into October, staring up at the clouds twisting across the moon. Soft footsteps made him turn. “Hi, Malfoy.”

He looked at peace for once, like he’d realised something and it had set him free. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Harry and stared out at the grounds. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice soft and beautiful in the dark, the faint silver light washing his slight, wistful smile. “It would be nice to start over again.”

Harry turned to stare at the lake instead of his profile, the thought sour in his mind. “Would it ever really change anything?” he asked, harsh with himself.

Malfoy stiffened slightly, and Harry felt a twinge of guilt for breaking his serenity. “No,” said Malfoy. “I suppose there’s no going back, is there?”

He turned, one hand trailing delicate fingertips along the windowsill, and made to walk on. “Goodbye, Potter,” he said, looking back just enough so Harry could see his profile.

It struck Harry then how utterly beautiful Malfoy was, the moonlight that loved him reaching for him as he walked away. “Night, Malfoy,” Harry called softly, and watched him until the shadows swallowed him up.


	9. There's A Black Crow Sitting Across From Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SAD SAD TRIGGERY CHAPTER ESPECIALLY AT THE START PLEASE BE AWARE!!!
> 
> This chapter contains non-graphic references to a suicide that is IMMEDIATELY fixed by Harry time-travelling (like, as soon as he hears about it). However please don't read if you think this chapter might cause you distress - this is still not a MCD fic, because none of the non-canon deaths are permanent, but I know that even an allusion to a triggering subject can be deeply upsetting in the context of a story, so please take care of yourself and I love you all!
> 
> These boys are also very clearly traumatised and depressed in this chapter, and although they are helping each other and taking comfort from one another, it's not always enough, and Harry knows that. Things will get better, I promise. This is the dark night before the slow dawn.
> 
> (also yes, I still absolutely suck at replying to comments... my kids are going back to school on Tuesday, I'm hoping I'll have more time to sit down and give you guys the replies you deserve then!!)

He startled awake at something approximating a normal time the following morning, and rubbed his face, trying to cast out the cruel, half-remembered dreams.

He dressed, the mechanical, necessary act happening without his input. In his usual dull fog, he hardly noticed the hush in the Great Hall, the missing teachers, the worried whispering. It wasn’t until he was walking back up to the dorms that some words filtered through.

“...dead when they found him.”

Harry froze, then spun around to the boys talking together, huddled as if for warmth in an alcove. It was Colin Creevey and his Hufflepuff friends. “What happened?” Harry asked, looking from one to the other.

Colin tightened his arms over his chest, looking miserable. “Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin… they found him in one of the empty classrooms this morning.”

There was a ringing in Harry’s ears. “Found him?” he asked, his voice strangely distant.

Colin nodded and swallowed. “I heard he, uh… he killed himself.”

Harry didn’t hear any more, couldn’t hold on to reality. All he saw in his mind was Malfoy’s beautiful face staring out over the grounds last night. He reached out, reached for the words. “It would be nice to start over again,” and held on.

“Potter?” said Malfoy, frowning at him in the moonlight. Harry stared, disoriented - he hadn’t even planned to travel back but here he was, and here Malfoy was, alive, and Harry felt like he had whiplash.

“Are you OK?” Malfoy asked, reaching out before pulling back, like Harry wouldn’t want to be touched by him.

Harry took a deep breath and grabbed his outstretched hand. “Let’s start again, then,” he said, his voice almost a croak. “Hi. I’m Harry Potter, and you are?”

Malfoy smiled, and although sad, it was a real smile, not a smirk or a sneer. “It doesn’t work that way,” he said.

“Why not?” asked Harry, holding on to Malfoy’s hand. “Tell me your name. Let’s start again. Let’s make…” He swallowed the prickles in his throat. “Let’s make this whole thing different.”

Malfoy’s eyes softened, almost fond. “I’m Draco, then,” he said. “Just Draco. No Malfoy...no past, no nothing.”

“Sounds fantastic,” Harry said. “It’s good to meet you, Draco.”

Malfoy’s - no, _Draco’s_ \- eyes fluttered for just a moment. “Sounds fantastic indeed,” he said hoarsely. His hand slipped out of Harry’s. “Well… goodbye, then, Harry.”

He turned to go, the moonbeams streaming through the window caressing him, and panic welled up in Harry’s chest. “Draco, wait!”

He turned to face Harry, surprised. “What?”

“Can you…” Harry clenched his hands into fists, realised they were trembling. “Stay? Stay with me tonight, please?”

“Potter, I--”

“It’s Harry, and… and please. Don’t do it? Not tonight?”

Draco went even paler, the blood draining from his face. “How did… what do you…”

Harry moved closer, loosely circling Draco’s wrists with his fingers. “Don’t leave me alone. Please?”

“You’re not alone, Harry,” whispered Draco, a tear breaking free and trailing down his cheek. 

“Neither are you,” said Harry.

Draco huffed. “Theo doesn’t--”

“I’m not talking about Theo,” said Harry. “I feel like… like you understand. Like you’re the only one who feels like they’re to blame for all this - and I don’t think you _are!_ None of this is your fault, but I feel like… like you blame yourself, anyway.”

“I could have done something,” whispered Draco, tears now falling steadily. “I could have… been better, used my own head, done… done _something_ good, but I didn’t, and now… I got Dumbledore killed, I nearly killed Katie Bell, and… and Weasley. Oh God, Harry, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything, I just want it to end.”

He sank to his knees, and Harry followed, wrapping his arms around Draco and pressing his own tears into the side of his neck. 

They clung to one another on the cold, hard floor, sobbing out their guilt and grief, and never seeming to make a dent in the depths that remained. At last, exhausted and aching, Harry manoeuvred them so that they were leaning against the castle wall. Draco lay slumped against Harry’s shoulder, and Harry found himself playing with his hair, running his fingers through the silky blond strands.

“So many people died,” Harry said, staring down the dark corridor. “And because it was me he wanted, I just… I feel like it was my fault.”

Draco wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed. “It wasn’t,” he said. “Not that that helps, or makes the feeling going away, but it wasn’t your fault.”

Harry squeezed back, and for a moment the quiet of the night wrapped them both in something almost comforting.

“If I had just done one good thing,” said Draco at last, his voice trembling with emotion once again. “If I’d just made one good decision, one choice I could be proud of--”

“You didn’t identify me,” Harry said at once.

“I told you before, that was cowardice,” said Draco contemptuously. “I could have said it definitely wasn’t you, could have… I could have fought with you in the Battle. After you saved me. But I was such a coward.”

Harry tightened his grip on Draco’s shoulders, pressing him close, trying to keep him anchored to the world, but the feeling was growing in him that it was too little. That Draco was safe for this one night, but there was still tomorrow, and tomorrow, and Harry himself knew the feeling. That he didn’t deserve comfort, or happiness, or peace, because he’d killed his best friend and made everything worse.


	10. All My Love Was Down In A Frozen Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE TURNING POINT!!
> 
> OK this is another really sad/traumatic chapter, particularly at the start. Bad things happen. Certain very important people temporarily die - but I am NOT leaving you with a cliffhanger! I promise! This is when things start to get a little tiny bit better for Harry, though he's still got a very long way to go, and it gets bad before then. Harry's behaviour is also suicidal at this point... on the plus side, the return of Lily and James, just for a little while. Lily is a badass! However if you would like me to give you a run-down on what happens in this chapter (and the last few?) please let me know - if you'd rather hear the important plot points in a relatively dispassionate way before moving on to the healing part of this, I'll write them in an author's note at the end of this chapter. From here on in it's all about healing! Thank you for sticking with me!

It was time, thought Harry as he lay in his bed once more. It was time to try, just one more attempt. He couldn’t handle it if it all went wrong again, but he had the beginnings of a plan if he failed. He took a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes, taking himself back, outside the Room of Hidden Things, and the burnt-hair stench of the battle.

“It must have been Fiendfyre!” whimpered Hermione, but Harry wasn’t listening. He left her and Ron _(oh God, Ron, alive…)_ and hauled Draco to his feet. 

“Help me save them,” he hissed, holding his gaze and trying to force months of understanding and pain through a look. “One good thing, Draco - one choice you can be proud of, yeah? Help me keep them safe.”

Draco’s eyes widened and his panicked breathing slowed, just as the noises of battle started up the stairs. Draco glanced over to Ron and Hermione, then back at Harry, and nodded once.

Ron and Hermione were rushing forward, hurling stunners at the Death Eaters. “Get back!” yelled Harry. “Everyone back here, now!”

Draco grabbed Ron and Hermione and started pulling them back towards the corridor. Harry hauled Fred and Percy and it _hit_ , and God, every time he forgot the terror of being hurled through the air, trying to cast a shield, skidding along the ground.

He sat up the moment he could get his body to respond, Percy and Fred groaning beside him. But where were the others? There was only rubble, great piles of it, only dust and stone and no cries, no sobs before him, and he hadn’t thought anything could possibly be worse than that sound, the wail of grief, but this… this was all of them, all three. His best friends, and his childhood enemy that he’d sent to fight in the war, demanding goodness of him and repaying him in death.

Harry fell to his knees, his vision blanking as Percy and Fred stumbled past him, picking over the rubble, calling for Ron and Hermione. Harry wanted to remind them that Draco was there too--don’t forget him, he tried, he tried to save them, because Harry told him to. But his voice couldn’t work, his fingers were numb, and his mind losing its grip on the thread of the past. 

The pain seemed to follow him into the future as he found himself curled up in bed once more, sobbing, squirming, every inch of him in so much pain he couldn’t _breathe_.

He could hear his dorm-mates waking up, sleepy murmurings, footsteps. But worse, he could feel the new memories building in his mind and he _couldn’t._ He couldn’t handle seeing the turn his life had taken without _either_ of his best friends, couldn’t bear to know the guilt of having recruited Draco Malfoy to die for him.

And then all of a sudden, the barely acknowledged alternative, the thought that he’d pretended he hadn’t considered, arose in his mind. He stopped his cries, his swollen eyes snapping open to stare into the semi-darkness. Because he didn’t _have_ to do this anymore.

He closed his eyes again, his heartbeat steady as he called on the memory. The walk through the Forbidden Forest, the stone tumbling from his hand.

 _“Avada Kedavra,”_ said Voldemort, and Harry died.

***

He awoke to blank whiteness, a complete absence of pain, his heartbreak locked away somewhere behind the strange purity of St Pancras station.

He pushed himself up to his feet and sighed, relishing the feeling of peace. The shard of Voldemort’s soul lay sobbing, abandoned beneath the seats, and it pulled on something inside him. He swallowed and turned away, looking for Dumbledore.

“Harry!” called a voice, and Harry’s head spun round, incredulous.

“Mum? Dad?”

His mum reached him first, flinging her arms around him and squeezing him tight. Dad wasn’t far behind, pressing kisses to his head. Harry leaned in and drank up their love, starving for it. “What are you doing here?” he asked, delighted. “It was Dumbledore last time.”

Mum’s expression darkened. “Yes, but all things considered, he agreed there were extenuating circumstances.”

“What your mum means is that she punched the last Master of Death in the face,” said Dad gleefully.

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Why?”

Mum looked distraught and furious. “He raised _my son_ to be a sacrifice. My. Son! How fucking _dare_ he? That’s why.”

Harry laughed, but it turned into a sob and he pressed closer to her, not wanting her to take away her comfort when she found out how he’d fucked everything up. “Mum, Dad… I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice small and thready as he tried to push through the lump of grief in his throat. “I tried to use my power to save people in the battle, but… I kept doing it wrong. I just… I fucked it all up. I’m so sorry.”

His parents hugged him close. “Come and sit down, darling,” said Mum. “You’ve had such a difficult time, I’m so sorry. I wish we’d been there for you.” She walked him over to the seats and he clung to her.

Dad knelt down in front of him, brushing hair back out of Harry’s face and stroking his cheek. “You know, when my dad sat me down to explain the rules of the Potter Gift, he had to tell me not to use it to play pranks on people. You definitely take after your mum.” Harry smiled and turned his head to look at him. Dad tucked a stubborn curl behind Harry’s ear. “This gift is supposed to be a blessing, not a curse,” he continued. “Please, Harry; I never thought I’d have to say this to my own son, but… use it frivolously, will you? From now on?”

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, pressing his face back into Mum’s shoulder. “I can’t,” he said, panic rising even under the peaceful, muting effect of the station. “I can’t go back this time, please… please let me come with you?”

His parents looked at each other, horrified, and he clung a little tighter, terrified that they’d send him back to deal with life alone, that they wouldn’t want him any more now they knew what a coward he was.

“Harry, darling, why?” asked Mum, rocking him as he wept. “Oh, love,” she whispered, her voice strangled with her own tears. “My poor boy.”

Even Dad was sniffling and wiping his eyes. Harry felt guilty for making them cry, but… “I can’t go back without them,” he wailed. “I could barely cope when it was just Fred and Remus and Tonks… and all the others. But to lose my best friends - and Draco! It’s my fault he was even there, I made him come and help, I was trying to give him a second chance because of what he said in… in the future, and I _killed_ him… I killed all of them, and I _can’t_ , I just can’t do it anymore, I’m so sorry! I know it’s cowardly and I’m letting you down, but they don’t need me, please take me with you? Please?”

“Harry! Harry, calm down, what are you talking about?” Mum said, shaking his shoulders gently.

“We can’t see all your timelines, son,” said Dad, his forehead creased with worry. “What are you talking about? You killed them?”

Harry swallowed and sat up, taking off his glasses to wipe the tears off his face. He took a deep breath. “Fred Weasley died in that blast the first time - just after the Fiendfyre. I tried to save him and… it kept going wrong. First Percy died in his place, and then… then Ron died.” Harry gulped and had to swallow his grief down. “I made… made friends with Draco back in my own time, but… but he wasn’t well either, he… I stopped him from killing himself, went back in time just one night, and… and Draco said he just wanted to make one good decision. One thing he could be proud of. So I--” Harry could barely breathe right, the emotion constricting his lungs and making him want to just scream. “I went back to just after the Fiendfyre again and I made him help me - he tried to save Ron and Hermione, but they all… they all…”

Mum clutched his hands. “Oh my God, Harry! Stop! They’re not dead!”

Harry froze. “They’re… what?”

“They’re alive!” said Dad. “Harry, didn’t you look for them?”

“I couldn’t hold on… I went back into my own time,and then--”

“But the memories, didn’t they come back?” Dad asked, eyes wide and frantic.

“I… I couldn’t, I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t want to know what life would be like without them. I held them off.”

Dad laughed, sitting back on his haunches and covering his face with his hands. “Let the memories come now, mate. Please.”

Harry looked from his mum to his dad, hope rising in him like bubbles. He closed his eyes and let the dam of memories break, just those between the blast and the Forest.

His eyes snapped open. “They… they were in the alcove? Draco pulled them into the alcove!” He stared, open-mouthed at his mum, who was smiling through her tears, her hand over her mouth. “They’re alive?”

Dad nodded. “You did it,” he said.

Harry bent double and sobbed hysterically.

“Oh, Harry,” Mum said, rubbing his back as he cried, relief, exhaustion and confusion mixing all together.

“Harry,” said Dad, scratching Harry’s scalp with his fingertips. “Will you go back now? It’s your choice, but… you don’t want to come with us any more, right?”

Harry didn’t know what to say. Part of him yearned to leave it all behind and go with his mum and dad, on to whatever was beyond the station. No more decisions, no more battles, no more… 

“I have to… I have to go back again, don’t I?” he said, still bent double over his own knees. “I’m the only one who can… who can save them.” He felt exhausted just thinking about it. “I have to go back. Fifty people…”

“No, please, Harry, enough of this,” said Dad, tugging Harry’s head up. He looked more serious than Harry had ever seen. “Enough. This was never just your war. Somehow you got it into your head that you’re responsible for all these people, all these adults. But you’re seventeen, you’re barely of age! And yes, I know we were fighting a war straight out of school too, but that’s just how I know this is all fucked up. Please, Harry. Enough. Please don’t take yourself back into that battle any more, you’ve done so much already. Everyone there, they made the same choices as you. You were all put in the same terrible position. It’s not your fault.”

Harry cried on his father’s shoulder, grieving for all the lives he couldn’t save, all the people the war had destroyed… but mostly, he cried because he was so relieved. Someone had taken this awful responsibility away from him, and he was guilty, afraid to accept, and so, so relieved. “But I can… I should… I can time travel.”

“We’re all travelling through time together, every day of our lives. All we can do is our best to relish this remarkable ride,” said Dad. “My dad told me that… I wish you’d known him, you’d have got along so well.”

“You’ve done brilliantly, Harry,” said Mum. “Go back and _live_ now. For yourself, for a change.”

He smiled up at her and rubbed his aching eyes. “This is so different to last time,” he laughed. “Dumbledore said I could choose to go on.”

His mum made a face. “Yeah, well, we’re your parents, and we actively want you to live.”

“I’m scared, Mum,” he said. “I don’t think I know how to do that.”

She kissed his forehead. “Oh, honey. No one ever does.”


	11. It's The Sound Of Me Unlocking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tentative peace...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning... while I have fixed a couple of the canon deaths, I haven't fixed all of them. I didn't think it would be realistic, and this story isn't exactly a barrel of laughs... I'm sorry I couldn't save all of them, but Harry needs to learn that he can't save all of them. It isn't even his place to try... I hope you can all forgive me ;_;

When Harry woke up in his bed at Hogwarts, for a moment he was too scared to let the memories loose again. He took a deep breath and let them come.

He remembered everything, layers upon layers of timelines, grief and battle and terror, and finally, settling on top like a tentative veil, the memories of finding Draco, Ron and Hermione huddled together in the alcove, covered in rubble but unharmed. Fred and Percy thumping him on the shoulder and running back into the fray without a backwards glance. Hermione handing a fallen wand to Draco as they ran on.

They were separated in the Great Hall, Harry, Ron and Hermione continuing on to the Shrieking Shack without Draco, and most things from then on blended into that first bedrock memory of horror and fear.

Except in the Great Hall. Just before he slipped away to watch Snape’s last memory, there was Remus’ body. And instead of lying dead beside him, Tonks wept over him, Draco Malfoy standing awkwardly beside her, flinching if anyone got too close.

Harry curled into a ball and cried again. It felt like now he’d started crying, weeping out his problems to his parents on his eighteenth birthday, that he might never stop. He wept for Remus, like he hadn’t done properly yet, but he also cried his gratitude. Tonks was alive. She was grieving her husband and her dad, but Eddie still had one of his parents.

“Harry… Harry, mate, wake up.” The hangings around his bed were pulled back and Ron shook him gently by the shoulder. Just the fact that he was _here_ and alive and able to do that made Harry want to scream and laugh and cheer and cry, all at the same time.

Ron patted him awkwardly, rubbing between his shoulder blades and murmuring platitudes, and Harry rode out the wave, exhausted.

***

Considering the magnitude of the change, the life-altering vastness of having all the Weasleys alive and well (and somewhat celebrated for that fact - a family of nine surviving the war intact was nothing short of miraculous) seemed to have little obvious effect on the world at large.

But the more Harry watched and remembered, the more he saw the good it had done. There were no longer fifty names on the memorial, but thirty eight. With Fred alive, Percy no longer blinded by grief and rage, Tonks still there, and Draco fighting on their side, the ripples had spread out across names Harry had never recognised, and those people who’d been saved had saved others in turn. 

And more than that; Harry hadn’t recognised how much smaller Ron had made himself after Fred died, the weight of the war having pressed so hard on his shoulders. But now that Fred and George were running the shop in Diagon Alley together, sending him test packs to hand out among the students to ‘raise spirits’, he had become almost a figurehead for them all. Ron was loud and cheerful, and he _saw_. It took Harry a while to really work it out, but Ron would notice when someone was struggling to keep their social mask on, and he’d either cheer them up or he’d grab the world’s attention. Once everyone was looking at Ron, it allowed the struggling person, usually Harry, to slip away.

Hermione may have teased him for having the emotional range of a teaspoon, but Ron’s empathy was instinctive and generous, and Harry had to close his eyes and control his breathing every time he remembered the darkness of that one, awful timeline without him.

And it was all thanks to Draco. Harry watched him, and wished. Because in this timeline, Harry had never held him through the night, fingers stroking through that soft hair. He was glad of that, desperately relieved that it hadn’t been necessary, of course, but it was like he’d taken a step away from Draco. They were back to their last names, at least out loud. Within the privacy of Harry’s own mind he could never go back to calling him Malfoy, always hearing that quiet voice, saying ‘Just Draco… no Malfoy, no past.’ They hardly spoke at all now. He wondered if he’d ever hear that again.

Even so, he sometimes caught Draco staring across the table, eyes narrowed not in anger, but in cautious calculation. It made Harry nervous, stumbling and clumsy with his hands and his words, and though Ron and Hermione made the effort to include Draco (and by extension, Theo Nott), Harry found himself tongue-tied more often than not. Which was frustrating, because he wanted so badly to thank Draco, and now it felt too late, like replying to a letter months after receiving it.

And then Harry dropped his head onto his desk in the middle of Charms and laughed at himself. Because he was a fucking time traveller, and it didn’t have to be too late at all.

He focused on a quiet moment he remembered from summer, when he’d sat and watched Diagon Alley as it repaired itself, eating one of Florean Fortescue’s best sundaes and reliving the summer before third year. 

The first time round, he’d spent a wonderful hour of peace and solitude just people-watching. This time he excused himself, leaving his ice cream behind Fortescue’s counter under a stasis charm, and ran down to the post owlery. Standing at the counter there, trying to stop himself from chewing on a borrowed quill, he wrote:

_Dear Malfoy,  
I’m sorry for not doing this in person. I think I’d screw it up and not say everything I mean - it all seems so big.  
Thank you. I can’t even express how much it means to me, what you did at the battle. You saved my best friends, and ~~Te~~ Eddie still has a mum because of you._

Harry paused. What else could he say? How could he express how dark the world had been, how many times he’d tried and failed to save those people until Draco did it for him? In the end, he signed off with one more _thank you_ , and posted it with a rented owl, a deep pang in his chest to see the bird fly off silently.

He walked back to Fortescue’s and sat back at his table with a peaceful smile before letting go of the past and blinking, disoriented, back in his Charms class.

“Harry,” hissed Hermione, like she’d been saying it for several minutes. “Wake up, for Merlin’s sake, and do your damn questions before Flitwick kicks you out!”

“Sorry,” he muttered, and bent his head over his work.

***

Almost nothing had changed after his little jump back to summer, and it was such a relief. Harry hadn’t realised how tense he’d been, waiting for all the new memories to settle in his mind. The only difference he could see was that Draco now glanced at him with a bit of uncertainty, as if it was now he who wanted to say something and didn’t know how. 

He got his chance one night in early November.

Harry didn’t think he’d ever have a healthy sleep pattern, especially not with enough battle memories to fill a lifetime of nightmares and nobody to talk to about a lot of them. Not that anyone ever talked about their battle memories, he thought as he wrapped his warmest cloak tighter around him and stared out over the lake. Hermione tried to get people to talk sometimes. Maybe she and Ginny talked some days. Maybe she and Ron did too, late at night when Ron crept into her dorm like they all pretended he didn’t.

Harry turned when he heard footsteps, and saw a pale shape faltering in the corridor. “Oh! Draco.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up; Harry realised what he’d said, and kicked himself. But Draco didn’t say anything, walking up to join him at the window, staring out into the night instead. He took a deep breath. “I must formally apologise for not replying to your owl over the summer. It was terribly rude, and - what are you laughing about, Potter?!”

Harry shook his head, chuckling at Draco’s bristling, offended glare. “Sorry, nothing. It’s just… nothing.”

Draco blushed, two spots of colour high on his cheeks. Harry found himself staring at them, wanting to touch. “I realise that’s the least of the things I have to apologise for,” Draco began.

Harry shook his head. “No, no, I wasn’t laughing at that, I just…” He chose his words carefully. “I felt like I’d taken a long time to thank _you_. Like I should have done it earlier. It was… it was just such a huge thing, I didn’t really know how to say it.”

Draco met his eyes, searching. “Yes, that’s exactly it.” He paused and seemed to consider, weighing his options. Harry should, perhaps, have made his escape, but he didn’t want to, preferring to enjoy the sight of that pale face limned in moonlight once more, only this time with less shadow under Draco’s eyes, less of a haunted look.

“Something’s different about you, Potter,” said Draco. “You called me Draco, like you’ve earned that intimacy.”

“Sorry,” said Harry, ducking his head and wondering if he should go back, rewind this conversation.

Draco carried on like he was thinking out loud. “And you look at me like you’ve seen something else, like you remember something other than six years of acrimony.”

Harry struggled to focus on the start of the conversation, but the memory was too recent, too imprecise, too mixed up with the distraction of Draco _right there_. “Excuse me,” he muttered, pulling away from the window.

Draco’s hand shot out and grabbed his elbow. Grey eyes bored into his, almost angry, almost afraid. “ _One good thing, Draco. One choice you can be proud of,_ ” he said. “You pulled me out of a cursed fire that one of my friends set, you’d had my own wand pointed at me moments before, and yet you then called me Draco. I’ve been through these memories obsessively, Potter. In a pensieve. I’m not misremembering, so don’t you dare try that.”

“I wouldn’t--”

“How did you know?” Draco hissed, leaning close. “How could you possibly know the words that kept me going each night?” His hand tightened around Harry’s elbow, fingers digging in. “‘Just one good thing;’ that’s what I kept telling myself. If I just made one good decision, it’d be enough. How did you know when the bloody Dark Lord himself didn’t?”

Harry made his decision with one look at Draco’s wild, terrified eyes. “You told me,” he said. “In another timeline. A worse one.”

Draco let go of him, frowning. “You’ve got a time turner?”

Harry shook his head and bit his lip. “I’m not meant to tell anyone. I don’t even know if you’ll believe me but… on my eighteenth birthday, I found out I can travel back in time.”

Draco let out a long breath. “That’s what the Potters have, then.”

“You’ve heard of it?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Lots of Pureblood families have these hereditary extra powers,” he said. “It’s almost always a closely guarded secret, so…” He shook his head and seemed to sag against the wall. “Of course you just went and told me. Of course you did.”

“Well, I didn’t know, did I?” Harry snapped. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a bit out of the loop on family traditions.”

“Sorry,” said Draco, looking away.

Harry leaned against the wall next to him. “Wow, you’ve changed,” he teased.

“Of course I have,” Draco frowned. “I’d change every aspect of my personality if I could.”

“Don’t,” said Harry softly.

Draco looked at him for a long moment, then pushed off the wall. “Come on then, Potter,” he said. “You’re going to tell me every tiny embarrassing thing I said to you in every timeline so I know exactly how much to Obliviate you.”

Harry smirked and followed.


	12. You Lift Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry discuss Harry's power, and a few other things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs for a discussion about suicidal thoughts (but in a positive, supportive context) <3 In general, though, this chapter is very peaceful and different from a lot of the others!

“So,” said Draco, leaning back against the corner in the empty third floor classroom. He looked so much better in this timeline, flicking his white-blond hair out of his eyes and lounging on a conjured beanbag. “You have been busy.”

Harry huffed and nodded. He felt washed clean, emptied and re-ordered now that he’d told someone the whole story.

“You haven’t told Weasley and Granger,” Draco said. “Why not?”

“How do you know I haven’t?” he hedged.

“Because you carry yourself separate from them now,” Draco replied promptly. “Although, that could have something to do with the sheer quantity of disgustingly heterosexual PDA.”

Harry laughed to cover up the jump in his belly. This was Draco coming out, right? It had to be, surely, it was unambiguous. He felt an overwhelming urge to come out too, quickly, before the moment passed. To think of something funny and clever just like that, only different and unique, and _quickly._

“I’m bi,” he blurted. And blushed to the roots of his hair. As _if_ Draco cared! He had no reason to want to know Harry’s sexuality; he would probably do that thing where he nodded politely and thought things like ‘fake gay,’ and ‘attention seeker,’ and--

“Good to know,” smirked Draco instead, and his cheeks turned a little pink.

Harry grinned down at his hands, and wondered if he dare move closer, do something about it.

“So like I said,” said Draco, clearing his throat. “You haven’t told them, or you’d all have your heads bent closer every lunchtime plotting how to use your new powers.”

Harry shrugged and nodded. “OK, yeah, I haven’t told them.”

“Why not?”

He took a deep breath and thought for a moment. “Like you said, if they’d known, they’d be plotting with me, and… well, that’s unfair. They’ve spent seven years dealing with my drama, it’s about time they got to just…” He waved his hand. “I dunno, be teenagers. Go overboard on the PDA.”

Draco’s eyebrows raised slightly. “And you don’t?”

“I don’t have anyone to PDA with,” Harry said flippantly.

“Not even Ginevra?” Harry raised his own eyebrows at that, and Draco pinked. “Oh, first names are a necessity with Weasleys, there are too many of them. Apart from Ronald.” Draco frowned. “There, see? It just sounds wrong. He’ll always just be ‘Weasley.’”

Harry laughed. “Ginny’s back with Michael Corner. Or is it Terry now? I can barely keep up. Anyway, we didn’t work out, it was like kissing a sister.”

Draco made a face. Harry smiled and fiddled with a stray thread on his pyjama trousers, stealing glances at Draco. Wondering if he’d ever be brave enough to--

“What about now?” Draco asked suddenly, cutting into his thoughts. Harry blinked at him, his face flushing bright red before he realised Draco was talking about telling Ron and Hermione about his time travel. “Will you tell them now that you’ve promised your parents you’d just use it for frivolous reasons?”

Harry stared at his knees and didn’t reply for a long time. “I’d have to tell them everything I did,” he said. “Ron dying. And me… giving up.”

“You don’t have to,” said Draco softly. “Just tell them as much as you want.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know.”

They stared into the room away from each other. “Would it be so terrible if they knew?” asked Draco, his voice so light that it had to be a serious question.

“They’d worry,” said Harry. “Hermione spends enough time trying to get me into therapy without knowing that I’ve been…. well… ”

“Suicidal,” Draco nodded, studying his hands.

“Yeah,” said Harry, his breath rushing out of him. “They just… I don’t think they’d get it - and that’s a good thing! I don’t want them to understand. I wish _I_ didn’t understand. But they just…”

“Think they can fix it with logic,” Draco said, snorting. “Or that if you have a good day, you’re fixed.”

“Or ask why you feel bad now, when the war’s over?”

“You can’t be depressed, you act so _normal_ ,” mimicked Draco in a high voice. “An insult on all accounts.”

Harry laughed, then bit his lip and looked up at Draco through his fringe. “You’re OK now, right? You won’t…”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said dryly. “Honestly, Potter, suicide by Voldemort? And people say _I’m_ dramatic.” He rolled his eyes at Harry’s laugh, then looked at his hands again, twisting off his crest ring and rolling it over his fingers again and again. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I can’t promise anything. I’ve thought about it since… Merlin, back in fifth year. So it doesn’t surprise me that I went through with it in one of your timelines.”

“I’ll stop you,” said Harry fiercely. “I’ll go back every time you do it, if you ever do, and I’ll keep you here.”

Draco rested his chin on his knees and looked at him, his expression soft. “Rather unfair, don’t you think?” he said.

Harry looked away. “I don’t want you to die.”

Draco cleared his throat. “Then… then I need you to come to me. When you feel like that’s an option worth considering, come and find me. I can’t time travel, and I don’t… I can’t let you have that kind of hold over me without some reciprocity.”

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco’s attempt at saving face, at acting like he was still cold and distant. “I won’t be able to say it, I don’t think,” he said seriously.

“You won’t have to say anything,” said Draco. “I’m a Slytherin; we’re experts at reading people. Just come and find me, and I’ll know.”

“I’ll try,” chuckled Harry.

“Hmm,” Draco frowned. “Actually you’d better come and see me more often that that. So I’ll really be able to get a baseline reading on you.” He nodded to himself, stuck his nose into the air as if that was that, it had been decided. The lord of the manor had spoken.

Harry smiled at his haughty profile. “Yeah, OK.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I WAS going to just let the other hereditary pureblood powers go undiscussed - after all, they are absolute secrets for those families, and James Potter didn't even tell his own wife about his power. But I've got one or two ideas about the powers for various families, like maybe Longbottoms have some sort of plant based power, the Blacks have something that makes them insane as sort of a consequence of the power (Bellatrix got that power in their generation). I love the idea of Ron being a seer (because of that headcanon that everything he predicts in Trelawney's class actually comes true, but nobody ever makes the connection!) but it wouldn't work with the universe I've created.
> 
> So if anyone's got any fun ideas, I would LOVE to hear them! And if anyone has a perfect one for Draco, I'll try and get it into the story somewhere! He does have the Malfoy power (Martisz asked about this in a comment last chapter!) because he's the last of the Malfoys afaik, but I don't know what it is... it just wasn't going to be part of the story!


	13. He Is Dangling My Keys, Even Fakes A Toss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas at Tonks' and Andromeda's house, and Harry may not be going back into the war, but he's still feeling responsible for a lot of things that aren't his fault or business. Good thing Draco's around to distract him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas chapter uploaded on the summer solstice! Unplanned, but it makes me happy ^_^

“What d’you mean, you’re not coming for Christmas?” demanded Ron. “Everyone’s going to be there, it’s going to be brilliant! Even Charlie’s back from Romania.”

“It’ll be packed, Ron! Think of your poor mum. Anyway, I thought I’d spend the holiday with Eddie, Tonks and Andy. I want to be there for Eddie as much as I can, you know? Like Sirius would have been for me, if he could.”

Ron groaned. “‘Mione, he’s being sensible, I can’t argue with him when he’s like this.”

Hermione patted Ron’s knee. “We’ll give you presents to take.”

“I won’t,” said Draco, stretching his arms over his head. 

Harry watched Draco’s ribs through his t-shirt. “Wuh?”

Draco threw a pillow at him. “I _said_ , I won’t send a present with you, because I’ll be there on Christmas day. Apparently Andromeda has been owling Mother all term. They’re trying to ‘reconnect’.” He made air quotes up by his ears.

“I imagine Andy wants to thank you for saving her daughter, too,” Hermione smiled.

Draco waved a dismissive hand, a blush painting his cheeks. Harry looked away. He was becoming obsessed with those blushes way too quickly.

“Are you going back to the manor for the rest of the holiday?” Hermione asked Draco.

“No,” he said. “Mother doesn’t want me there.” He frowned. “I don’t want _her_ to be there.”

“How long has she got to stay?” asked Ron.

“Her house arrest lasts three years. After that, she’s got to try and sell the place.” He shrugged, his shoulders tense. “No idea where she’s going to send me when school ends.”

“Stay with me,” Harry blurted. He felt a jolt of panic at his own lack of chill, but the more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. “Seriously, anyone’s welcome,” he added quickly. “Grimmauld is huge, but I don’t want to get rid of it. I know Ron and Hermione are going to get their own place on that couples scheme, but anyone else…” He looked around the common room. “Uh. It’s an open invitation.”

Draco smirked. “You’re going to regret that when Finnigan burns it down.”

“Oi!” yelled Seamus cheerfully. 

Draco held up his middle finger without taking his eyes of Harry. “Thanks, Potter. We’ll see how it goes.”

***

Tonks wasn’t doing very well. Harry watched worriedly as she brushed sandy hair out of Eddie’s eyes and mustered up a tired smile for the little baby babbling up at her. Tonks’ hair had been the same sandy brown all holiday; Harry hadn’t seen it change in the last two days since he had arrived. And he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, or if she had a couple of scars that matched Remus’ as well.

Andromeda bustled around, more perky and upbeat than Harry had ever seen her, sending Tonks to get dressed at 10am sharp every day, scheduling meal and bath times with an efficiency that she’d never had before.

Harry wondered if he was making things worse for them, upsetting the delicate balance so carefully constructed after the war to keep the two women from drowning in their grief. He had hoped that having Tonks back would make it easier for Andy, one less person to grieve for, but instead she seemed to be one more person for Andy to look after.

He tried to make things a bit easier for everyone by taking on some of Andy’s tasks, leaving her to focus on Eddie while Harry made dinner. Instead of freeing her up to bond with her grandson, though, he walked into the living room to find them both staring at the carpet while Eddie crawled around, pulling books off the lower shelves.

That’s when he started using his power to work out the most useful thing to do, entirely selfishly, because Tonks’ fogged inertia made him uncomfortable. It reminded him far too much of the timeline without Ron, where he’d felt like every step was pushing through treacle. But when he saw Andy staring into the distance with that vacant expression, he felt a fear rising in his throat that it was somehow contagious, and had to retreat to the bathroom to figure out where to go in the past to change it.

By the time Draco arrived, he’d worked out that taking Eddie for a walk was the best thing for everyone. At first he’d thought that spending time with the baby would be the job everyone wanted - Eddie was utterly captivating. Taking him for a walk felt like a selfish thing to do when there was also cooking and cleaning. 

But he soon discovered that Eddie was also utterly exhausting. He wanted to crawl everywhere, he hated being in his pushchair, and could even struggle out of his straps and stand up on the seat without any trouble (or, apparently, magic). Once, when Harry was distracted by a display of Muggle magazines in the local shop, Eddie had squirmed out and leaned so far over the back of the pushchair that he tipped over and fell on his face. The middle aged lady behind the counter gave Eddie a chocolate bar and told Harry her own kids had done the exact same thing, but Harry was still so wracked with guilt that he went back in time just to make sure he kept his hand on the pushchair at all times.

Draco flooed in on Christmas day from McGonagall’s office. The way Harry’s heart leaped into his throat upon seeing him made him wonder how he’d ever been able to keep his mind off Draco, even though they’d only been apart for a few days. Harry bobbed Eddie on his hip and watched Draco return Andy and Tonks’ warm hugs rather awkwardly. Then he looked up at Harry and smiled, and it was like lighting a fire under Harry’s ribs.

“Nymphadora isn’t dealing with this whole thing very well, is she?” Draco asked as they walked along the clifftops, bundled up against the wind and intermittent drizzle. Harry had Eddie strapped to his front so the little boy could look out at the world.

“Don’t let her hear you call her that,” Harry laughed.

“Or what?” asked Draco snidely. “She might react to something?”

“She’s grieving,” said Harry. “She has a lot to grieve.”

“She’s depressed,” said Draco. “I’m not saying she doesn’t have a good reason to be, but the deeper she sinks, the harder it’s going to be to get back out. Trust me.”

“And what can we do about it?” Harry snapped. “You and I both know you can’t make someone stop being depressed.”

“No, I know,” Draco said, dipping his head to stare at the path in front of them. “I do know, it’s just… I wish it were different.”

Harry sighed and nodded. “Me too,” he said. “I’ve been trying - doing what I can to make it easier on both of them, you know? Going back and changing little things here and there, trying to find the best thing for all of them.”

“No wonder you look old,” said Draco, arching an eyebrow at him. “You’ve lived three extra weeks while the rest of us only got one.” Harry shoved him, and Draco cackled. 

“You know what I’d do if it were me?” Draco said after a moment. “I’d live a full day. Make all those usual mistakes, say the wrong thing, get caught without an umbrella. Bitch and snipe at the people I… I care about. And then…” He sighed and stopped, staring out at the grey sea, white capped waves snatching at the air. “Then I’d go back and do it all over again. Only I wouldn’t be my usual bitchy self the second time, I’d be… kinder. I’d catch things I was too late for the first time, I’d stop myself from saying something cruel before I have to see that flash of hurt in a person’s eyes. I’d ignore the things that bothered me the first time, and arrive early to the really good conversations so they last longer. I could stop being this anxious, twitchy little _bitch_ and be the best version of myself.”

Harry grabbed Draco’s clenched fist without thinking, his thumb and forefinger ringing Draco’s wrist. He relished the feel of his silky skin under his own calloused hands, the bump of Draco’s wrist bone. Everything he wanted to say rose and tangled in his mind, but he didn’t dare, couldn’t risk it. 

“You’re not bitchy, Draco,” he said in the end, holding his gaze, Draco’s grey eyes reflecting the stormy sea.

Draco huffed and shoved his shoulder, his hand slipping out of Harry’s. “Soft, Potter. Come on, now. Let’s get back before my aunt and cousin eat all the turkey.”

***

Harry could still feel the ghost of Draco’s skin throughout Christmas dinner, the delicate bumps of veins and tendons, the slight buzz of hair. Even as he pulled crackers and made faces at Eddie, and sang along to Muggle Christmas songs that made Andy’s eyes well up. Even as Draco sat across from him, smirking and aloof and so, so beautiful. Harry smiled sadly, because he was laughably out of Harry’s league, and judging by how quickly he’d pulled away from Harry’s touch earlier on the cliff, very obviously not interested.

He held a sleeping Eddie like a shield when the time came to say goodbye to Draco. He watched Andy and Tonks hug him, and wished he had that sort of relationship with him too. He remembered how it felt to hold Draco in his arms - not that he wanted anything to be like it was in that awful timeline, but he missed the feel of that soft hair between his fingers.

Everything was worth it to see Draco so much happier, though - and all the Weasleys. And Tonks may have been depressed, but at least she was there, at least Eddie had his mum.

Draco smirked at him as he turned to say goodbye, while Tonks and Andromeda drifted away. “You and that baby are joined at the hip, Potter. Are you getting broody or something?”

“Shut up,” Harry muttered stupidly, kissing Eddie’s chubby cheek to hide his embarrassment. Eddie snuffled and sighed and Harry smiled at him, his heart swelling with love.

Draco cleared his throat. “Uh… well. Goodbye, Potter. See you next term, and all that.”

He turned away, suddenly stiff. Harry frowned and bit his lip. “Ok… I’ll write.”

“If you like,” said Draco, waving a hand and not looking back.

“I’ll give that thing a try,” he said, and then winced. What an idiot. He glanced around to see if the others were in earshot and struggled on. “The, uh… the thing you suggested. Where I live every day twice. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Draco turned back, interest sparking in his eyes. “Excellent,” he said. “Clearly your sense is improving if you’re taking my advice. Merry Christmas, Potter.”

He stepped into the Floo and was gone. Harry smiled down at Eddie. Maybe he wouldn’t have to re-do that conversation after all.


	14. When Your Money's Gone And You're Drunk As Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonks is everything this story ever needed and more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. So you know how Harry deals with his issues by feeling like everything's his fault and he has to change everything or everyone will hate him forever? Yeah. Everyone else has been too caught up in their own grief to notice, until now.

In the ten days or so before Harry had to go back to school, he immersed himself in Draco’s idea, living each day twice, heading off the arguments, playing Eddie’s favourite games for hours, going down to the beach one morning instead of into town so he could spend the rare, sunny day beachcombing, and another day forgoing the beach for the clifftop so he could get a better view of the pod of whales passing through.

 _You were right,_ he told Draco in one of their regular owls. _It’s making me focus on the good things about each day. And it’s also incredibly relaxing knowing that there isn’t going to be some terrible event that I’ve got no control over because I’ve already been through that day once._

 _I beg your pardon,_ Draco replied the following day. _I think I must have misread your atrocious chicken-scratch (honestly, Potter, who taught you quillmanship?) but it looks like you said I was RIGHT._

Harry grinned down at the parchment and shoved his toast into his mouth just so he could scribble _ha fucking ha_ on a post-it note to send with Draco’s owl.

Tonks still worried him, though. Now that Christmas was over she couldn’t even muster the energy to leave her room at times, and Andy was refusing to acknowledge it. She acted like Tonks wasn’t there, like she’d gone out or was staying somewhere else rather than talk about it, rather than just tell Harry what he could do to help.

It was starting to make his guilty conscience flare up again. He should have tried harder to keep Remus alive, should have been stronger, but every time he considered going back, his heart beat so wildly he was almost sick. What if he did it wrong? What if, in trying to save one person, he killed someone else? Or hundreds of others? And what if he lost the war?

One night, he ended up spiralling so bad he couldn’t stay in bed. His magic was starting to make the books shudder on their shelves, and he thought if he didn’t go and _do_ something _right now,_ he’d explode.

He crept down the stairs as quietly as he could, his hands shaking and every creak too loud in the pre-dawn. He leaned on the kitchen counter and stared out of the window at the moon that bathed Andy’s bare garden in silver.

“Can’t sleep either?”

Harry leaped around, his heart pounding, his skin tingling. Tonks didn’t seem to notice he had his wand pointed at her; instead, she just joined him in staring out of the window. 

“The moon makes me think of him,” she said. “I know he hated it, and tonight would’ve been a hard one, but we were always so aware of it. It’s almost like… as long as I have the moon, I have him too. Only now he doesn’t have to be afraid of it any more.” She made a face and looked down at her hands. “God, that’s morbid. He hated the moon; what am I even saying?”

She slumped, her head hanging low between her shoulder blades. Harry’s heart ached, and he wished, he _wished_ he knew what to do.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. He had to say sorry, had to say it even if it meant nothing, even if he had to go back and undo the whole conversation. “I should have done something, saved him somehow, and now… now Eddie hasn’t got a dad, and I know it’s worthless, but I’m so, so--”

“Harry! Oh, Harry, no, don’t apologise for that!” She pulled him into a rough hug, her fingers clenched, claw-like in his pyjama shirt. He sagged against her like a string had been cut. “Is this why you’ve been so tense all holiday?”

“I just… I didn’t know what to _do_ ; I want to help, I want to be a good godfather, and I…” he sucked in a breath, his voice shaking and childish. “I just want to make it better for you. I’m so sorry.”

“That isn’t your job, kid,” she said, patting his shoulder, and now it was he who clung to her, his fingers twisted in her shirt. “Things will get better in their own time, but we’ve got to let them.”

“I just don’t want you to be sad.”

“If I’m sad, it’s not your fault; you do know that, right, Harry?” She pulled back and cupped his cheek, and he noticed she was crying. He just wanted her to _stop_. “God, you’re so young,” she sighed. “We always forget… Remus talked about you like a peer; he made you Eddie’s godfather at seventeen, for Merlin’s sake, but you’re just… still in that mindset of thinking the world revolves around you, that it’s all your fault and you can fix it. Oh, God, I’m sorry, that sounds so cruel. It’s not meant to be. But this isn’t your doing. And it isn’t yours to fix. And my grief isn’t yours to take away, or put a limit on. That’s why I’m here, and not trying to muddle through at home, you know? Mum and I both know we’re going to need to take turns with Eddie while the other takes turns with the grief. Because if we hold it back, it’ll just find another way out.”

Harry pressed his face against her shoulder, humiliated and ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled again.

“No; I’m sorry, Harry. I should’ve talked to you about it. You’re grieving, too.”

“I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head.

“Yes, you are,” she nodded. “You’re coping in your way, by trying to help people. My mum’s like that. But you know I’m fine too, right? The Mind Healer’s helping both of us, so Mum and I are getting better all the time. We’re making progress. There’s a way to go, but we’ll get there. How are your sessions?”

“My sessions?”

“With the Mind Healer?”

Harry pulled out of her embrace and frowned at her. “I’m not seeing one.”

Her eyebrows shot into her fringe and a ripple of red shimmered through her hair. “What? Why the hell not? You of all people should be getting help!”

“I… I didn’t know--”

“No, of course not. I’m not mad at you, but it should have been provided _for_ you, your…” She trailed off and bit her lip. “Right. Well. Leave it with me.” She shook her head. “This world has failed you quite enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, who was going to organise therapy for Harry? Of course he SHOULD have had it, but he's an adult in the eyes of wizarding law, and it's not as if they seemed to care much about people's mental OR PHYSICAL health when he was a child. Is there a wizarding social services? Is there a CAMHS? I think the fuck not.
> 
> Enter Tonks.
> 
> (Also no, within the scope of this story, Harry is not going to change this habit of blaming himself for everything - that's something that's going to take years of therapy. But he's on the road to recovery!)


	15. This Is Not The Sound Of A New Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLUFFFFF!!! I can't believe there's only one chapter left of this story after this one... omg it's been such a ride, and thank you all so much for supporting it!

“Hi,” said Harry, dropping himself next to Draco and smiling.

Draco looked up in surprise. “When did you get back? And how did you know I’d be in here?”

Harry laughed. “Umm, well, you told me you’d been in here all morning when I saw you at dinner.”

Draco blinked. “You’ve already lived today once?”

Harry nodded, and Draco’s eyes lit up the same way Hermione’s did when she learned something new. “Tell me everything,” said Draco, leaning forward. “What did you change? What knock-on effects has it had? What are you hoping to avoid?”

Harry tried to suppress the soppy smile he knew was growing across his face. “Well… I knew I wanted to go back pretty early on because I left the shells at Andy’s place.” He dug in his pocket as Draco leaned his chin on his hands, the full force of his dizzying attention directed at Harry. “Here- I found this on the day after you left. I thought you might… umm.” He handed it over. “I thought you might like it,” he mumbled, passing the shell over and biting back the explanation that the shiny grey mother-of-pearl inside reminded Harry of Draco’s eyes. God, how stupid could he be? Draco wouldn’t want that, he should’ve just--

“You went back for this?” Draco asked, taking the shell and turning it over and over between his fingertips.

Harry tried to laugh it off. “Yeah, it’s… uh…” But how could he take back the fact that he’d brought a stupid shell back for Draco? He was making things weird, Draco was going to laugh, honestly, thank Merlin for time travel, he was going to throw the bloody shell back into the sea and--

“Thanks, Potter,” said Draco, and Harry snapped his head up to see a soft expression on Draco’s face, his cheeks touched with pink as he stroked the smooth inner surface with his thumb. Harry beamed.

“So, uh…” Draco cleared his throat and tucked the shell in his pocket. “What else?”

“Oh, well, Tonks came with me to hassle McGonagall about me seeing a Mind Healer, so that’s going to be fun.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Really? That’s strange; apparently Mother sent word that I was to see one as well.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s probably my fault. Tonks found out I’d never seen a Mind Healer, and she and Andy got all up on a soap box about it, and I think Andy mentioned she was going to convince your mum to send you to one as well.” He crinkled his nose. “I mean, we’ve been fine so far, I’ve no idea why they think we have to talk about our feelings now.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” said Draco quietly, looking down at his hands. “Blaise was trying to get me to see someone in fifth year, but Father… well, Purebloods are weird about mental health.” He glanced up at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

Harry bit his lip. “I guess. I don’t know what to think about it.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out soon enough,” Draco said. “Anyway, enough of that. Time travel.” He made an imperious gesture for Harry to get on with it.

Harry laughed. “That’s all there is to say! As you can see, today I came and found you rather than kicking my heels in the dorm for hours. Yesterday - no, sorry. Today, but the last time I lived it…” He shook his head. “Time travel needs a whole new vocabulary. Last time I lived today, I caught up with you at dinner and we’d both been bored, so here I am.”

Draco’s smile widened, his cheeks pinking just that little bit more, with no trace of a smirk in the curve of his lips. Harry immediately decided to spend the rest of the year time travelling to see how many times he could put that smile on Draco’s face.

***

Harry continued to live every day twice as term started. His Mind Healer turned out to be a Legilimens, which nearly made Harry run out of her office when he found out. Having someone know what he was thinking and put it into words was all sorts of invasive and disconcerting, but the first thing she taught him was how to put up big neon signs around certain thoughts saying ‘don’t even ask’, and that gained his trust just enough to come back for the next session. 

When she found out about the time travel, she came up with a whole new programme to fit in with what he was already doing, encouraging him to use the first day as his testing ground with her, so he could talk about anything he felt like, to try to shock her, try to talk about things he wouldn’t ever mention otherwise, because he could just go back and do it all over again.

The winter winds howled around the castle, but the students inside were starting to settle into this new normal. Quidditch started for real, with the eighth years forming their own cross-house team to play unofficial matches against the regular teams. Harry expected Draco to argue for the Seeker position, but he was first to jump in as Chaser along with Cho. 

“Everyone knows you’re going to be Seeker, Harry,” said Cho, rolling her eyes.

“I always preferred Chasing anyway,” said Draco, not looking at him directly. “My father expected me to be the most valuable member of the team, though, and the Seeker gets all the attention.”

“Oh, come off it, Malfoy,” smirked Cho. “You did it to annoy Harry, too.”

He rolled his eyes, his cheeks pinking slightly. “Shut up, Chang.”

***

Harry found himself spending more and more time with Draco as the term went on. Part of that was because Ron and Hermione were now a given, pairing off in every class, hands linked under the table and bickering as much as ever. The conflict didn’t seem to pull them apart, somehow. It fascinated Harry, now he wasn’t in the middle of it. Their relationship seemed to have grown around the arguing and sniping, rather than replacing it. That was just how they were, and snogging didn’t seem to have changed that.

Maybe he should have felt left out. Instead, Harry felt a little guilty at how pleased he was that it freed him up to sit with Draco. He got to work on projects with him, practice spells, and work through problems. He got to feel Draco’s perpetually cold fingers around his hand every time he perfected his spellwork in transfiguration, which was somehow much less irritating than when Hermione did it. He got to watch Draco’s hair curl with the vapour in potions, a thin concentration line forming between his eyebrows, and perhaps best of all, he got to help him with charms and DADA just as much as Draco helped him.

He’d been expecting Draco to take Harry’s suggestions with bad grace. Draco and Hermione were still constantly competing for top marks, so Harry figured he wouldn’t appreciate help from someone with pretty consistent A and E grades. 

But it was like a dam breaking the first time Harry explained the Riddikulus spell. Draco interrogated him on everything - he even added notes to his own work. He leaned his chin on his hand and stared at Harry like he could pluck the answers right out of his head, and Harry had to take a deep breath and calm his racing heart so he didn’t make an utter fool of himself.

***

“You’re staring again, mate,” said Ron, nudging him with his foot.

“Huh? What? No, I’m not.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Sure, you aren’t. Merlin, you’re worse than you were around Cho; at least you didn’t have that… that besotted smile all the time with her.”

“Besotted?” Harry laughed.

Ron shrugged. “Spend too long around Hermione, and you end up using long words. Look, you don’t have to deny it; we’ve known you fancied Malfoy for years--”

“Years?” Harry yelped, making Hannah Abbott jump and frown at him.

“Yeah, well, I mean, we didn’t think that’s what it was back in sixth year when you were obsessed with him, but it’s pretty obvious now.”

Harry looked down at his hands clenched in his lap and tried not to think about when he stalked Draco, watching Draco sink deeper into despair while Harry distracted himself with anger every time he started to feel something different, something more like kinship. “That wasn’t healthy,” he mumbled, very determinedly not thinking of a blood-soaked bathroom.

“You’re not worried about what people will think, are you?” Ron asked, turning to look at him, his green-blue eyes suddenly very earnest. “Because none of us care if you’re gay, or bi, or whatever, you know that, right? And Malfoy… well, he was a right git, but the war’s changed all of us. He’s not a bad guy any more.”

Harry shook his head and smiled at Ron. “Thanks, mate. I wasn’t worried about that - you guys are my best friends. I trust you.”

Ron grinned back and punched him on the shoulder. Just in case anyone got any ideas about being more emotionally honest, Harry supposed, as he thumped him back.

***

Draco squinted up at Harry as he sat down next to him in the patch of unseasonably warm February sunshine. Harry smiled at his scrunched up face and resigned himself to the warm, joyous feeling that spread through his chest. 

“How many times have you re-lived this glorious day then, Potter?” Draco asked, shading his eyes with one hand.

“This is the first time,” he said.

Draco frowned. “Wait; I can remember you saying that the last few days. Aren’t you re-doing things any more?”

Harry shook his head. “Nah, I haven’t really wanted to.”

Draco laughed, joyful crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. Harry looked down at his trainers and smiled. “Really?” Draco cackled and shoved Harry’s shoulder. “I spent ten full minutes yesterday mocking you about your ex-girlfriends dating each other, you can’t tell me you enjoyed that!”

Harry shrugged and tugged up a blade of grass. “It was fine. I think it’s pretty funny, too.” He tried to hide his blush. How could he tell Draco that he didn’t want to risk missing the whole day spent with Draco, walking around Hogsmeade on Valentine’s, elbows bumping, watching Draco’s smile, hearing his laugh. Especially that moment when Harry had made him laugh so hard, he’d leaned his forehead on Harry’s shoulder. Any amount of ribbing about Ginny and Cho dating each other was worth that shining moment.

Draco shook his head, his eyes sparkling as he looked at Harry. Their eyes met for a moment, and Draco looked away, clearing his throat. “Honestly,” he said. “I’m not surprised Ginevra’s come out as bi. She’s exhausted the worthwhile male population of Hogwarts. It was either date girls or wet blankets like Finch-Fletchley or Smith.” He shuddered.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re so judgey.”

“Oh, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” Draco said. “She has standards, and she’s willing to kiss a lot of frogs to find her prince. Or princess.” He grinned gleefully at Harry. “You were a frog.”

“Ribbit,” said Harry.


	16. Your Love Will Be Safe With Me

As the year drew on and NEWTs crept closer, the near hysteria of _‘we survived a war’_ became the near hysteria of ‘we might not survive exams’. Harry found himself re-doing days again just to make sure he’d understood particular concepts, and then guiltily sharing his notes or spending hours explaining them to his classmates.

“Stop it, Potter,” said Draco one evening, kicking him under the table. “You don’t need to feel guilty for having an advantage.”

“Time travel’s a bit of an extreme advantage, though,” said Harry. “More like cheating.”

“Look, as long as you promise not to go back in time to re-do all the exams, it’s not cheating. It’s just a good skill, like a photographic memory, or a talent for spellwork.” He bent his head back over his books. “I’ll turn you into a Slytherin yet,” he muttered.

His fringe fanned down over his eyebrows, and Harry had to deliberately tear his eyes away from him and focus on his Potions revision.

No matter what Draco said, Harry was trying to use his powers less and less. He’d even decided not to use them for Mind Healer sessions.

“Why not?” asked Draco, when Harry told him a few days later. They were walking up to the Great Hall side by side, elbows almost bumping. Harry was hyper-aware of the space between them.

“Well, you know I went back a couple of days ago because Hermione and Ron had this massive fight? Lavender sent Ron a love letter or something. Anyway, I went back and tried to distract them, and it worked, but then they had an even bigger fight about the exact same thing yesterday.” Harry sighed and rubbed his head, embarrassed. “And it was even worse because Hermione said Ron should have told her straight away when he got the letter instead of hiding it - only he _wasn’t_ hiding it, it was me! I distracted him; he would have told Hermione straight away if it wasn’t for me.”

Draco frowned at him. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Harry made a face. “Some of it was. My Mind Healer says this power is making me feel like I have to be perfect.”

“She’s not wrong there,” Draco said, a tired smile curling his lips. “Perfect Potter.” 

Harry shoved his shoulder, and Draco staggered sideways. “Ugh, get off, you Gryffindor oaf,” Draco grinned. The smile disappeared quickly, though, and Harry noticed the dark circles under Draco’s eyes as he looked up.

“Are you OK?” he asked softly.

Draco smiled, a very fake curl to his lips. It looked like the effort hurt. “Of course, why do you ask?”

Harry bit his lip. “Because you look… different.”

“Different?” Draco said, narrowing his eyes.

Harry thought carefully for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, different. Look, remember back when I first told you about the time travel? And you said… you said you’d notice when I was feeling… bad?” He took a deep breath. “Well, I’m not as good at reading people as you are, but I think I’ve got a baseline--”

Draco laughed. “Oh, no, I’m not feeling _like that.”_

“Sure?” Harry asked, still serious.

Draco looked at him, and it made Harry ache with how sad he looked. “Yeah,” Draco said at last. “I’m good.”

“Because I can go down to Hagrid’s tomorrow instead of today if you like, I just--”

“Don’t, Potter,” Draco said, his voice strained. 

“OK,” said Harry softly, his shoulders drooping.

Breakfast was stilted, almost formal, and Harry was furious with himself for pushing his luck. Draco was probably fed up of him by now, it was hardly surprising he didn’t want him around. He tried to take it philosophically but found himself stomping down to Hagrid’s hut and scowling into his bucket of tea while Hermione and Ron told Hagrid about the latest gossip. 

He managed to pull himself out of his funk in time to laugh at Ron imitating Seamus and Cho’s drunken argument over Hufflepuff winning the quidditch cup and whether the ref had been biased. But when they made their way back up to the castle, Harry excused himself to walk around the lake.

He was ashamed of the fact that his first instinct was to go back in time, but do what? Make Draco happy? He’d basically told him he didn’t want him to do anything, he had to respect that. And who knew what he’d change by going back, even if he could figure out the right thing to do. He’d miss seeing Hagrid, and spending time with his friends, too. And perhaps, he thought, throwing stones for the giant squid to catch, it wasn’t his job to figure out the right thing to do.

He sat down on the bank and laughed softly. People had been telling him the same thing for months - his parents, Tonks and Andy, his Mind Healer. It wasn’t his responsibility, it wasn’t his place to fix everything. This was just the first time it had come from inside, and it was dizzying.

But even so, even if he didn’t _have_ to fix everything, a part of him still _wanted_ to, still wanted to find some way to make Draco feel better.

***

By seven pm Harry had dragged his heels back into the dorms, still feeling conflicted.

“Where’s Draco?” asked Hermione, looking up from her reading by the fire.

“Dunno,” muttered Harry. “He was around at breakfast.”

“You haven’t seen him since then?” she asked, frowning.

He shrugged. “I think I’m irritating him,” he admitted, his voice small. He wished he could take it back.

“He’s been looking a bit down recently,” she said thoughtfully. 

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, well. He said he’s OK.”

She shrugged reluctantly. “I suppose you know him better than I do.”

Harry cracked a smile, staring down at his hands. “Well, I don’t know.”

“No, really, you guys are so close these days. And that’s a good thing! I know Ron and I are a bit… caught up with each other sometimes. I’m just glad you’ve got someone too; after you and Ginny broke up--”

“Oh, we’re not _together_ ,” Harry said quickly.

Hermione blinked. “You’re not? Oh. _Oh_. Oh, my goodness, Harry, I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” he chuckled.

“I mean, have you asked him out? I’m sure he’s gay, if that’s what’s stopping you.”

“No, it’s… don’t worry about it, Hermione, we’re just friends.”

She looked at him, all puppy-eyed.

“Seriously, it’s fine!” he insisted. “Uh, look; I’m going to go find Draco, see if he’s OK, like you said, and, uh, yeah. See you.”

He found himself walking towards the library without thinking about it. He might as well find Draco, even though he’d just said it as an excuse to get away from Hermione. But there was no sign of him in the library, and come to think of it, he hadn’t seen him at dinner either. Madam Pince said she hadn’t seen him since early afternoon.

Harry checked the potions lab, the staff room, the Slytherin dorms and even their old, abandoned, third-floor classroom, worry steadily building. Eventually, heart pounding, he raced back to the dorms for the Marauders’ map, spreading it out on the bed to search for Draco’s name. There! The top of the Astronomy tower… but that had been damaged in the battle, and still wasn’t safe.

He barely remembered to banish the map before scrambling outside again, ignoring the voices that called him as he rushed through the common room. 

He was breathing hard by the time he got up to the top of the tower, the roof and part of the walls blasted away, leaving the spiral staircase damaged and the room at the top exposed to the elements. “Draco!” he yelled, looking around wildly.

Movement at the crumbling, open corner of the room caught his eye, and he nearly collapsed in relief to see Draco stand up.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Draco asked, his voice too upbeat and nonchalant to be real. As Harry stepped forwards across the debris, Draco turned to look out over the moonlit grounds, wiping his eyes surreptitiously.

“I should have stayed with you,” Harry said softly, walking up to stand close to Draco. He could see him trembling in the drizzle, and cast warming and impervious charms. Draco turned his face slightly to acknowledge it. Not far enough for Harry to see his face, though.

“Why do you say that?” Draco asked, still keeping up that falsely cheerful voice.

“Draco…”

Draco chuckled, and his shoulders sagged. “Can’t you just believe me when I say I’m fine, like everyone else?”

“Do you really want me to?” asked Harry carefully. “I promise, I’ll leave you alone if you definitely want that, but I’m worried--” He touched Draco’s wrist with the tips of his fingers. Draco gasped slightly and jumped, and Harry pulled back. “I feel like I should have stayed with you this morning.”

He turned to go, to take himself back, to make it all better because this was something _big_ , this was someone hurting, but Draco grabbed his arm. “No, don’t, Potter, please. It’s _fine_.”

Harry turned back to him, to his head bowed over Harry’s arm, his shoulders rounded and small, and he just wanted so badly to wrap him up in warmth and love and peace. “I just want you to be happy,” he said. The wind carried the words over the edge.

Draco laughed, or sobbed. “You can’t. You shouldn’t have to. I shouldn’t _be_ like this anymore. Everything you’ve changed… why do you keep changing things for me? What have I done to deserve this?”

“Nothing!” said Harry. “I just… I want to help. I help other people too.”

Draco let go of Harry’s arm and sat right on the edge of the broken tower, somehow seeming even more hollowed out than before. “You should make yourself happy,” he said, his voice strained. He flashed a sad smile up at Harry. “You’re trying so hard to make other people’s lives better, but it’s not your job. Who makes you happy?”

Harry screwed up all of his courage, so he could feel it like a solid thing in his throat. “You do,” he said, sitting next to Draco.

“Potter, I--”

“It’s selfish,” he said, almost breathless. “All of this, going back for little things. Sometimes it’s to right a wrong, but mostly it’s... it’s so I get to see you smile.”

“What?” said Draco faintly.

“I know it’s not… I know you don’t feel the same, and that’s fine, but I… it makes the sun come out for me, to see you smiling, or laughing, or… or just at peace. Just happy.”

“How… how could you think I don’t feel the same?”

Harry blinked up at him and they stared at each other, inches from the fall. Harry swallowed. “You don’t even use my first name.”

Draco laughed, tears coming to his eyes, and it wasn’t a happy laugh. It was afraid and hysterical and so close to something Harry wanted to drown himself in. “I call you Potter because if I said your first name there’s no way it wouldn’t be obvious to everyone in a ten mile radius.”

Harry’s heart thundered as he covered Draco’s hand over the rough stone. “What would be obvious?” he whispered.

Draco took a shuddering breath. “That I’ve been in love with you for years… Harry.”

It was like a wave, like a tide rushing up through his body and sweeping joy into every pore. Draco’s soft grey eyes looked up at him, fluttering shut as he leaned closer, until he felt Draco’s soft lips underneath his own.

Draco sighed into the kiss, leaning in and sinking his free hand into Harry’s hair. Harry pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his face into Draco’s neck as the kiss ended, trying to be closer, to surround himself with Draco.

“I’m not always going to be happy,” Draco whispered, his arms tightening across Harry’s shoulders. “I’m going to have bad days, maybe for the rest of my life, and that’s not your fault. You can’t fix everyone, and you won’t be able to fix me all the time by going back for the notes I’ve lost, or a shell you’ve found that reminds me of you. You can’t. You shouldn’t. But…” he swallowed and stroked his thumb over Harry’s cheek. “You make me happy just by being here and trying. Maybe not happy on the surface where you can see, but happy somewhere small and precious.”

Harry pressed himself even closer, pulling Draco onto his lap to surround him in all the love he couldn’t speak, and felt one moment stretch into eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for supporting this story, I appreciate all your lovely comments SO MUCH you have no idea (especially because I'm so short on time at the moment I haven't been able to answer them I'M SORRY!) And once again thank to to PalenDrome who helped me with this last chapter so much, it wouldn't have been the same without you and I'm so relieved you agreed to read through it! I hope you enjoy where I went with this! Thank you all once again!

**Author's Note:**

> I also write a regular blog about my original novels on [Wordpress](https://lynhemphillauthor.wordpress.com/), and I talk all sorts of bollocks on Tumblr as Gold-From-Straw too! Come say hi if you like!


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